Hell and Consequences
by OpheliaOddball
Summary: Miriana Westchild has watched the world end around her and lost everything she had once had. When she stumbles across Camp Chitaqua she is forced to deal with the horrors of the end of the world. Features my character Miriana from Still Unbroken.
1. I Will Survive

_Hi everyone. This story is set in the episode The End. It follows my character Miriana from my other fic Still Unbroken and It's Not the End of the World Baby, so I'm not sure if you have to read the other fics to understand it. I don't think so, but some bits might be confusing if you haven't read the others. I loved the episode so much I decided to do a mini fic based around it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and I'll try to update regularly, but my other fic takes precedence. :) Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer- I don't supernatural or its characters (wails in the corner). Lyrics belong to Stephenie Bentley. _

23rd September, 2012

_I will survive; I will endure, when the goings rough, you can't be sure,_

_I'll tough it out, I won't cave in, If I'm knocked down I'll get up again,_

_As long as my dreams alive, I will survive_

_The world is officially in the shit._

This thought was in Miriana Westchild's head as she drove the battered Chevy truck down the deserted highway, eyes scanning back and forth across the empty road for any sign of demons or croats. She hated the stupid bastard truck; it was too loud and guzzled way too much petrol, which was virtually impossible to come by nowadays. She missed her Mercedes with its quiet purr and superior engine, but that was long gone now, destroyed by a petrol bomb thrown when there was a riot about the distribution of antidotes to the virus in Chicago. Of course the antidote proved useless. The virus was of demonic origin, cooked up by Lucifer and Pestilence in the fires of Hell, and as such human medicine was useless. But they hadn't known that back then.

She glanced across at her cousin Nate, who was fast asleep in the seat, his head resting against the window, a book open in his lap. Since the world ended, Nate had read more than ever, ensuring that Miriana had loaded a considerable amount of books from their aunt's library after they had fled the house when she had come down with the virus. Miriana could still hear the sharp crack of the gun as she had shot her Aunt Eve right in the forehead at point blank range, still see the blood pooling across Eve's prized cream carpet, remember the crazed look in her aunt's eyes as she'd lunged at her with the knife. She shook her head forcibly to remove the disturbing memories and returned her eyes to her cousin. He had turned twenty two a few days ago, but it hadn't been a happy affair. Miriana had broken into an old supermarket to try and find some alcohol and maybe a few bars of chocolate to give to him as a present but had run into a huge nest of Croats and had ended up being chased by a screaming horde of the infected until she eventually managed to throw them off by running into a thick copse of trees on the edge of the town. She had had to return to the truck empty handed and exhausted.

She was more than a little impressed by the maturity and strength that her cousin had shown in the past twelve months. She had half expected him to break down like the rest of the world, but he just got his head down and carried on, resilient in the face of adversity. He never complained, and he helped Miriana constantly, even on some of her more reckless missions to get food, water and clothes. She knew he cried often; more than a few times she had heard his muffled sobs in the dead of night when he thought she was fast asleep, but he never cried in front of her. More often than not it had been him holding her whilst she sobbed her heart out, an unexpected and very sad role reversal.

Miriana fiddled with the radio, but she was met with a wall of static. She didn't really expect anything else. Very few radio stations operated anymore, except those in the safe zones and the occasional government or military station, but the reception was usually so bad she couldn't hear anything anyway. Most of the time, Miriana would put on one of the CD's from the huge collection she had taken from the house on to fill the silence, but Nate was exhausted and she didn't want to wake him up. Instead she had the silence and her own anxious thoughts for company. She continued to scan the road, noting a fire burning in the next field, but there was no sign of any activity. There were fires everywhere these days, and most of them would burn for days or weeks, now they were no fire fighters. The rain would put it out when it came, which it nearly always did. It seemed that along with humanity, the sun had been chased away.

She knew that most sensible people would get themselves to the nearest safe zone and stay there for as long as they could, but Miriana found she and Nate were far better alone. She no longer trusted other human beings, not after everything she had been though. The world was a now a cut throat place; there was little trust or compassion anymore. At least that was the answer she always gave Nate on the rare occasion he questioned her actions, and it was the answer she always gave herself. Deep down though, she knew there was a completely different reason. Since she had left Dean and the others in Detroit, she was almost terrified to see them again, especially after what had happened in Detroit and before, when she had been travelling with them. The real reason for her reluctance to stay in a safe zone was that she risked running into and Dean and...Him. She fingered the silver pentagram charm around her neck, remembering the day he had given it to her, handing it to her with fingers shaking from anticipation. Without thinking, she reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket, her fingers closing over the cool, silky material of the midnight blue tie in her pocket.

At that moment Nate jerked suddenly awake, and she hastily stuffed the tie back into her pocket, not wanting him to see her still pining over him.

He rubbed his eyes, and Miriana noticed his hands were shaking. "You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Fine. Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Michigan," she answered, "All the road signs have been destroyed, so I'm not too sure, but I think we're just outside of Fairview."

"Any activity?" he asked, glancing out of the window.

"Nothing," she said, "It's dead round here."

"Yeah, that's what we thought about that town in Minnesota, but we soon found out otherwise," he said dryly. Miriana remembered that city well. It had seemed completely deserted by croats, demons or survivors, so she and Nate had decided it was the perfect place to park the truck and sleep for the night. It was only when the croats had been banging on the windows of the car that they had discovered the town was most certainly not deserted. It had been the most terrifying drive of Miriana's life trying to shake them off.

"Well we're not stopping," she said, reflexively glancing in the mirror for anything on the road behind them, "I'll keep driving."

"Miriana," Nate said, his tone disapproving, "You need some rest."

"I'm fine!" she exclaimed, "We've had this discussion."

"You're not sleeping," he said, with the tone of a concerned parent, "It's not healthy."

"I try to sleep, Nate honestly, I do," she said, voice pleading, "But I just...can't."

"I know you have nightmares," Nate said softly, "But you need to sleep. Let me drive for a bit."

"No."

"Look honestly, I'm not really bothered about you, I just don't want you falling asleep on me and crashing the car. I'm too precious," he joked, punching her arm lightly.

His humour won her over, "Fine. Just be careful."

She braked gently, climbing out of the driver's seat and dashing around to the passenger's seat. She always felt oddly exposed out of the car, as if there were hostile eyes on her. She slumped down into the seat, flicking through the glove box, looking for the canister of sleeping pills. Now she wasn't focused on driving, she found she was actually quite tired. She shook a few pills out onto her hand and swallowed them without water, ignoring Nate's disapproving look.

"Wake me up if something bad happens, will you?"

"Sure thing," Nate replied, focusing his attention on the road.

After a few minutes Miriana felt the sleeping pills begin to take hold, dulling her senses and making her eyelids feel like there were lead weights tied to them. Medication was the only way she could ensure she actually got to sleep, and usually she would be woken up by nightmares. At least she would get some rest; it was better than nothing.

She closed her eyes, succumbing to dreams of hellfire and the end of the world.


	2. I Miss You

_Hi :) Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and a big thank you as alwyas to anyone who's left a review or favourite. Hope you all continue to enjoy it. Lyrics belong to Blink 182._

24th September, 2012

_Where are you? And I'm so sorry_

_I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight, I need somebody and always,_

_This sick strange darkness, comes creeping in so haunting every time._

_I Miss You_

It was exactly two hundred and thirty six days since Castiel had last seen Miriana.

Two hundred and thirty four days since he had come to Camp Chitaqua.

He didn't have anything better do than count the days. And every single day he had spent without her had been painful. He still didn't know where she was, or if she was even alive. He listened intently to everything the camp's scouts said; hoping one of them might report a dark haired woman travelling with a young man somewhere close to the camp. He scoured through the radio reports and pleas for help they received, hoping he might stumble across her voice one day, but he never heard her. She'd vanished completely into the harsh world outside the safe borders of their camp.

Next to him, Natalie stirred slightly underneath the covers. She was one of his 'harem' as Dean so eloquently put it. He felt instantly guilty. If the women he spent his time with knew how much he thought about Miriana they'd be pissed. Most nights he'd wake up from his nightmares and reach out to the woman next to him, thinking it was Miriana, until he realized it wasn't her skin underneath his fingers, or her perfume lingering on the bed sheets. It hadn't been her next to him for nearly a year. It had been so bad between them that in the last few weeks before she'd vanished she couldn't even bear to have him touch her. She had flinched away from him every time. He could still her furious yelling ringing in his ears.

He sat upright and rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a killer headache starting in his temples. He fumbled in the drawers of his bedside table until his fingers closed around the bottle of painkillers. He tipped several onto his palm and washed them down with a long draught of vodka. Miriana had always shouted at him for doing that, saying he was irresponsible for mixing alcohol and pills. At first he had tried to stop, for her sake, but as things got worse and worse, he had just stopped caring. He sometimes wondered if he had stopped the pills and alcohol the fights would have stopped too and she might have stayed. But it was too late now; he would never know.

He slumped back against the pillows, careful not to wake Natalie. It was almost funny in a way; if he had asked himself a few years ago if he could ever see himself with anyone but Miriana his answer would have been a firm and unquestionable no. He had only ever had eyes for her, only ever felt attracted to her, but now he was practically drowning in women. He had always been completely inept with the fairer sex, but it seemed that they were drawn to his graceless charm, and the more time he spent with them, the better he got. Except with one woman. The better he got at dealing with women, the worse things got with Miriana. He had never imagined that would be the case, but here he was, lying in bed with one of his many girls, with no idea where Miriana was, or if she was still alive.

He glanced at his watch on the side table; it read four thirty in the morning. He sighed heavily and returned his gaze to the ceiling, waiting for the pills to take effect. He couldn't sleep without them, haunted as he was by the memories of the virus breaking out in the cities, the riots and the fires, his brothers and sisters leaving him trapped in a human body, and the dark and stormy day Miriana had turned her back on him and left. He could feel the slight fuzziness as the pills began to work into system, but they wouldn't keep him under for very long. He'd wake again in a few short hours, by which time someone somewhere would want him for something, either carrying supplies or taking over from whoever had been on the night watch. It had taken a few years, but he was finally fairly at ease with his human body, not as clumsy as he had once been. He still had accidents all the time, like tripping over nothing but thin air, and Dean teaching Cas how to shoot a gun had been an interesting experience for everyone involved. The cabins near the shooting range still had the bullet marks.

Again, his thoughts returned to Miriana. If he still prayed to God, he would have begged him to keep her safe, begged him to bring her back to him. But he didn't pray anymore; it didn't get him anywhere. No one was listening, and he had an awful nagging feeling that she was dead. Nobody survived long in the Croats world, even someone as tough and determined as Miriana. He had never even had the chance to mourn her properly, no closure on her fate.

The painkillers began to drag him down into unconsciousness, and he could only hope the night wouldn't bring more nightmares.

Dean Winchester leaned back in his chair and breathed in a deep lungful of clear morning air, wishing Camp Chitaqua would always be this peaceful.

It was six thirty in the morning and he hadn't been able to sleep since two o' clock. He'd given up rolling over and getting tangled in the covers trying to get back to sleep and got up at three to relieve the young teenager on the night watch with the job of watching over the roads around camp. Dean preferred this particular spot as it was elevated above the chaos and insanity of day to day camp life. The hill he was sat on gave a bird's eye view of all of the roads around camp and gave him an easy way to watch for roving bands of Croats around the borders. Croats weren't the only problem; there were groups of regular human beings out there that could be just as bad, if not worse than the Croats. He couldn't understand why these rogue groups wanted to kill and rape and fight; surely the end of the world was a time to join together against hell, not cause more problems.

He leaned down next to his seat and took a long swig of Jack Daniels, scowling when he saw the bottle was nearly empty. He counted his bottles of Jack Daniels as just as precious as water, however self destructive this particular philosophy was. He always made sure that he checked the liquor section of the supermarkets they raided, ensuring he always had a decent stock hidden in a compartment under the floorboards of his cabin. He only allowed himself to get drunk at night; during the day he had too many things to do and too many people relying on him to be staggering around in an alcohol haze.

He hadn't ever really wanted to be the leader of Camp Chitaqua, but he just seemed to have fallen into the role in the first few weeks he had been there. Before he and Cas had arrived, there had been no order and fights had broken out almost every day over supplies and raids. All Dean had tried to do was instil a bit of order, and he had ended up being the one everyone turned to. He supposed it kept his mind of everything that had happened, all the nightmares he had witnessed. Some days though, the pressure and responsibility really got to him, and all his insecurities came flooding back. He had Cas, when he wasn't holding an orgy or out of it on pills and booze, and he had Tank, Rhea, Neil and Garrett as his team, but he missed two people that he no longer had with him. He missed Bobby; he had been like a second father to Dean, and had pulled him out of more than a few scrapes in his time. And more than anything, he missed Miriana.

He still, despite his best efforts, had no clue where Miriana and her cousin Nate had vanished to. That day in Detroit had been the last time he had seen her for almost a year, and there wasn't the slightest bit of evidence as to where she had gone. The negative side of his brain told him firmly that she was dead, as logic told him most people couldn't survive the horrors of the outside world, but Miriana wasn't most people. She was tough, and he still harboured a burning hope that she was still alive and relatively safe. He always kept one ear on the reports that scouts brought back, listening in case he heard someone describe her, and every time an unknown vehicle passed by the outermost limits of the Camp, he'd focus the binoculars in as close as he could in the vain hope that he'd catch a glimpse of her. He hadn't yet, but Camp Chitaqua was one of the biggest safe zones, and he reasoned she'd have to turn up one day, or even at one of the other camps close by. He missed her organisation, even though it had driven him mad once. He missed more than anything her warm heart; they were all too often few and far between.

He still couldn't understand why she had left Cas. He had never seen two people more in love than the two of them, even when things had gotten really bad and the world had turned to crap around them. Granted, he'd seen them fight, which was mostly Miriana shouting at Cas whilst he tried to calm her down, but they still seemed so...together. He also knew that Cas started his constant stream of pills and alcohol whilst he was with her, and Dean felt he had to take a little bit of responsibility for that. It was him that had chucked bottles and pills at the ex-angel when he had been struggling to deal with all the difficulties of being jammed inside a human body and cut off from the glory and power of heaven, rather than letting Miriana help him. But still, Miriana had always gone back to him, even after she'd yelled her lungs sore and cried her heart out and threatened to leave; she'd always come back, he'd always see her slipping back into his motel room. He wondered what had made her vanish in Detroit, what had finally made her snap. He knew perfectly well she hadn't died that day, as he'd seen the truck she was using driving away from the street that they had been fighting the demons in. If only she had stayed with them, she would have been with them at Camp Chitaqua, and things might have been a little easier. Dean would have had a second in command he completely trusted and maybe Cas wouldn't be drowning in pills, drugs and alcohol and sleeping with anything with a pulse and breasts. He had never said it to him, but he couldn't help but notice he seemed to pick women that oddly resembled Miriana. They weren't exactly doppelgangers, but they had a similar build, similar hair shade or eye colour, or a certain way they smiled or talked. It was a clear sign to Dean that Cas wasn't over her. He didn't think he ever would be; he remembered how much he adored her, virtually from the day he met her. He couldn't remember being that in love himself, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't ever fade, even if they did find out Miriana had died. It was a remarkable how much of an effect she had on people, even when she wasn't around.

Sighing heavily, he took another long swig of Jack Daniels, draining the bottle. He was about to get up and grab the walkie talkie to demand Garrett to get him another bottle, when a movement on the roads caught his attention. Grabbing the binoculars he raised them to his eyes and focused on the tiny figures so they suddenly grew in size. There was a group of men stood in the middle of the road a battered truck behind them, grinning toothily about something on the road in front of them. He recognized them; they were a group of rogues that prowled the area around Camp Chitaqua like wolves and had caused no end of trouble. Suddenly, they lifted their shotguns and aimed them directly in front of them. Dean followed their aim until he saw a battered truck that seemed oddly familiar, two indistinct figures inside. He spun the wheel on the binoculars until they were as focused in as they could be.

The door swung open, and when the figure on the passengers' side stepped out of the car he felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, fumbling next to him for the walkie talkie.

He lifted it to his mouth and flicked the button that opened the channel to Tank. "Tank," he barked into the walkie talkie, not bothering with all the 'over and out' crap.

"What?" came a tense voice from the other end.

"Get together a group of your best guys," he snapped, "We're gonna need to save someone."


	3. This Could be Anywhere in the World

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter. For those of you that read It's Not the End of the World, Baby, I promise I'll update it tommorrow. I've had a bit of writers block with it, but I'll get back to updating it tommorrow evening, probably. I hope you're all still enjoying it, because I haven't gotten that many reviews. I don't mind at all, I just hope neither story is boring or not going the way you want it to. A big thank you and hugs for all the reviews I have had, I hope I can keep it interesting for everyone. :) :) I also promise a reunion between Cas and Miriana is coming in the next chapter ;) (I swear). Lyircs belong to Alexisonfire. _

September 24th 2012

_This city, this city is haunted, by ghosts from broken homes,_

_Because this city, this city is haunted, there's no hope,_

_Left for these souls._

The next thing Miriana knew she was being shaken awake by Nate.

"Miriana," he hissed, his eyes wide and panicked, "We've got trouble."

She straightened up in her seat, staring through the windscreen. Just ahead, barely visible in the early morning light she could just discern a truck, shadowy figures clustered around it. She saw the dull flash of shotgun barrels gleaming in the semi-darkness, and her heart sank. So much for a peaceful journey.

"They've got guns," Nate muttered, starting to slow down the car, "What do we do?"

Miriana reached for the glove box and fumbled around until her fingers brushed against the cool metal of her pistol. She pulled it free and checked it was loaded, then leaned forward and jammed the gun into her belt, pulling her leather jacket over it to cover the weapon.

"Stop the car," she said calmly, "I'll deal with it."

She ignored his incredulous look when she jammed another round of bullets into her jeans pocket, "Stop the car Nate."

"Miriana..." he began, looking apprehensive.

"Stop the car," she said in a final tone.

He sighed heavily and touched his foot to the brake pedal so the car slowly rolled to a stop.

"Uh-uh," Miriana reprimanded when he undid his seatbelt as if to follow her out of the car, "Stay here."

"But I-but-" he spluttered, looking furious. She held up a hand to cut off his protestations.

"Do as you're told," she snapped, opening the truck door and climbing out.

She took a deep fortifying breath when her feet hit the concrete, checking the pistol was still firmly tucked into her belt. They'd encountered other groups of travelling survivors; some of them were friendly and carried on their way without any confrontation, whereas others had been somewhat more hostile. A quick glance at this group of dirt encrusted, shotgun wielding men gave her the feeling that she was about to encounter the hostile type. If things turned dangerous, she had the gun. It wasn't the time to have any qualms about blowing people away; especially when they wouldn't think twice about robbing your corpse will it was still warm. She had never been able to understand the new mentality that had broken out along with the virus; the attitude that made people behave like animals, turning on other and tearing out each other's throats.

"Gentlemen," she said, in a clear carrying voice, "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, darlin' there is," the man at the front of the group called back in a strong Texan accent, "We run these roads."

She stepped closer but kept a reasonable distance, "Come on guys. We don't want any trouble. We're just passing through."

The group all chuckled low in their throats, and the sound gave Miriana shivers, "You're not goin' anywhere, sweet cheeks. It's been a real long time since we've had ourselves a woman, ain't it boys?"

They all growled their agreement, their eyes roving all over her; their lecherous gazes felt like a cold, slimy physical touch on her skin.

The leader of the group stepped forwards so she was within his grabbing reach, but she held her ground.

"What do you say honey?" he murmured, flashing her an awful grin, "Fancy a good seeing to?"

He leaned forwards and brushed her cheek, sliding his cold hands over her neck and down to her chest. She waited until he moved closer, as if he was about to kiss her, then she spat straight in his eye.

He recoiled, cursing, and whilst he was scrubbing at his eye she pulled the gun from her belt and aimed it at his head. Before her finger could so much as brush the trigger, one of the men behind them shouted a warning, and the man whirled around and knocked the gun out of her hands so it clattered to the concrete. He drew his fist back and punched her hard across the face and she flew back against the bonnet of her truck, the coppery taste of blood blossoming inside her mouth.

"You little bitch," he growled, grabbing hold of her by the front of her jacket and yanking him towards her. He drove his fist into her stomach, driving the breath out of her body, forcing her to cough and splutter. He raised his fist as if to strike her again, but a tall figure appeared at the side of them, blocking the swing. Nate kneed the man in the groin, but he didn't collapse; he simply groaned in agony and staggered backwards, swinging for Nate again. Miriana shouted a warning when she saw the rest of the group racing towards them; she knew perfectly well that they wouldn't be able to fight them all. There was a loud crack, and the men suddenly stopped dead on the spot, their eyes wide with panic. Everyone froze, stunned by the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot, casting their eyes back and forth across the dark trees that lined the road, looking for the shooter.

Whilst Nate was staring transfixed at the trees, the man that had attacked Miriana saw his opportunity and yanked a savage looking blade from his belt, lunging towards Nate with a murderous look in his eyes. He didn't have time to turn, and Miriana could do nothing but watch helplessly as the knife swung towards his chest in what was bound to be a killing blow.

Before the flash of silver could embed itself in Nate's chest, there was another ear shattering crack, and the man thudded to the floor like a stone at Miriana's feet, limp, his limbs splayed out almost comically along the road. A puddle of dark blood spread slowly from a tiny hole in his temple, seeping across the concrete, the knife lying useless in his clenched hands. Glancing down at her boots, Miriana could see a splash of dark crimson blood across the leather, and her stomach gave a weak little flip. One of the men in the group let out a bellow like a wounded bear and raced towards Miriana, a vicious looking butcher's knife clenched in his hands. He took no more than three steps forward, then he dropped too, the knife skittering away from him, felled by the unseen shooters. Then all hell broke loose.

Shots broke out left, right and centre, thudding into the concrete and dislodging chunks of stone. Miriana waited for the inevitable ripping agony as the bullets tore into her flesh, but none of the shots came her way. The men were retreating back to their cars, yelling to each other in panicked voices. Figures broke out of the trees next to the road, and they fired at the battered trucks the men were driving until it vanished from sight behind another copse of trees.

Miriana stayed pressed against the bonnet of the car as more figures emerged from the trees, around twelve in total. Nate dashed towards her and tenderly touched her cheek, which flared with pain when his fingers pressed against the broken skin.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low.

"Peachy," Miriana replied, wincing when the movement of talking tugged at her bruised cheek.

"Well I'll be damned," came a painfully familiar voice from behind them.

Nate whirled at the sound of the voice, staring stunned at the group of people gathered in front of them.

"Miriana, Nate" Dean Winchester said, the slightest smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "Long time, no see."

She could see a marked difference in him, even from just the briefest of glances. There was a fine cobweb of lines bunched in the corner of his eyes, a hard quality to his face that had subtly warped his handsome features and gave him the look of a man that had long since died inside. His green eyes, that she had once seen full of laughter and hope, were dead and cold, the green dull and faded. He was thinner too, still muscular, but in a hard, starved way, his cheekbones sharp as razors.

He suddenly surged forwards, throwing his arms around her waist and crushing her body against his so tightly she worried her ribs might crack from the pressure. He still smelt like the aftershave he had always worn, but there was a deep undercurrent of blood and dirt lingering on his skin. She didn't return the embrace; she didn't have the energy. Her arms stayed pinned at her sides.

"God, I've missed you," he whispered in her ear, his hold momentarily tightening around her, "Where have you been?"

"Away," she whispered back, her voice cracking on the second syllable.

He stepped back, releasing her from his hold and thumping her on the shoulder in a manly sort of way. It might be the end of the world, but it seemed certain things about Dean would never change.

"You look like hell," he said gruffly.

"I've been through hell," she muttered, feeling incapable of lifting her voice above a murmur.

He nodded once, then turned to the group of people behind them and brusquely started issuing orders. They immediately jumped to, starting to secure the perimeter to keep any rogue groups or Croats away, and Miriana briefly wondered if she was imagining the fear in their eyes when they looked at Dean. She saw Tank's huge, lumbering figure, and he tipped her a wink and brief, crooked smile.

"Right you're coming with us," Dean said, turning back to her. Nate had dashed off to talk to Tank, and she saw him throw his lanky arms around Tank's burly shoulders.

"Going where?" she asked, bewildered.

"Camp Chitaqua," Dean replied.

She'd heard of the Camp often when she tuned into the few radio stations that still operated, telling people where the best safe zones where. She knew it was one of the biggest and most well fortified in Northern America. She had known it was in Michigan, but she hadn't realized how close she must have been. But she didn't care how huge and well protected it was, or how many friendly people might be there, she wasn't going. She still didn't trust others, and she knew perfectly well that if Dean was at the Camp, he would be there too. Without even thinking, she touched the delicate silver pentagram at her neck.

"I'm not going," she said forcefully.

Dean regarded her with an incredulous expression, "What the hell do you mean? You can't stay out here, it's too dangerous!"

"I've survived for long enough out here," she said, folding her arms across her chest, "I'm not going, Dean."

"Why not?" he snarled.

"I don't trust anyone anymore," she said, her voice dropping down to barely above a whisper again. She subconsciously brushed her fingers against the pentagram necklace once more, and she noticed that Dean's eyes followed the movement, and a frown flitted across his features.

"Is it because of him?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Who?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"You know perfectly well who," he said, his voice a little more gentle, "Cas."

The sound of his name was like a razor against her skin. She had to suck a great breath into her lungs before she trusted herself to speak.

"I couldn't care less whether he's there or not," she said calmly.

Dean shook his head, almost sadly, "What happened between you two?"

"None of your business," she snapped, "I just don't want to be trapped in some Camp, having to make nice with people who wouldn't think twice about blowing me away for a meal if they had to."

Dean rolled his eyes, and for a second, she saw a little of the old Dean, not this hard, cold Dean of the new world.

"You always were dramatic," he muttered, "It isn't like that at the Camp. We have enough for everyone, and we look out for each other. It's a thousand times safer than running the streets with the Croats and the demons."

"Well, you make it sound just peachy," she said in a falsely sweet tone, "But no thank you. We're far better on our own."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but she cut across him by shouting to Nate.

"Nate!" she yelled, "Get in the car, we're leaving."

He took a few steps toward her, then hesitated, casting a glance back at Tank and another young man with a mop of unruly blonde hair.

"Come on," she demanded, gesturing at the car door, "Get in."

It was the look on his face then that shocked her. He looked just like a teenager again, all wide eyes and lanky limbs, desperately seeking the approval of the woman who was like an older sister to him.

"I want to stay," he said in a small voice, as though frightened of her reaction, "I want to go to Camp Chitaqua."

She was tempted to snatch the keys off him and drive away, but the truth was she couldn't bear to leave him. She didn't want to be alone, and she knew perfectly well if she chose to leave, Nate would undoubtedly follow her. He didn't deserve a life of fear in the grimy streets of a desolate America. He deserved a chance at a life, and some security and safety. It didn't matter what she wanted; now wasn't the time to be selfish.

She glanced at Dean, who was watching her with intense scrutiny. She glanced at the group of people gathered behind them; they looked tough and hardened, but their clothes were clean, and they didn't have the starved, desperate look of the survivors she'd seen wandering along the back roads.

"Alright," she said, "I'll stay with you."

His eyes widened and a wide, toothy grin broke out across his face. He raced towards her and nearly bowled her over with the force of his hug, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly into her ear. He stepped back, the wide smile still plastered across his face, "You're awesome."

"Right," Dean said, clapping his hands so loudly everyone jumped, "Follow us."

Nate bounded back to the car, waving energetically to Tank as he did. Miriana climbed into the driver's seat and grabbed the keys off Nate, starting the engine with a roar. Ahead of them, she saw trucks pulling onto the road, setting off around the curve in the road ahead. She followed them whilst Nate babbled on constantly about everything he was going to do when he got to the Camp. It was the closest she'd seen to the old Nate in a long time.

After five minutes, a chain link fence appeared through the trees, a group of people carrying shotguns pacing back and forth in front of it. They held their hands up to the trucks and they pulled to a halt but after a few brief, choice words from Dean they sprang back, waving the convoy of vehicles into the compound. As Miriana drove through the chain link fence, she saw a huge sign taped to the metal, with the words Camp Chitaqua carved into the wood. Underneath was an official looking sign, stark black letters announcing that the Camp was 'a government appointed safe zone.'

She followed the trucks until they pulled to a stop outside a huge warehouse just inside the chain link fence. Nate immediately threw himself out of the truck when he saw the others leaving, but Miriana stayed in for a few seconds longer, concentrating on taking slow, deep breaths. She glanced through the windscreen; behind the warehouse, which appeared to be bustling with activity, she could see wide gravel paths, snaking between the trees, and a scattering of one storey wooden cabins, the kind that she had always imagined existed at adventure camps for kids. It was a long time since she'd been around other human beings, and she had never been the most outgoing of people, even before the apocalypse had turned her into a mistrusting, paranoid woman. She held her hands out in front of her, trying to stop the shake in them, then she took a final deep breath and climbed out of the truck, very aware of the curious stares that met her.


	4. Long Way to Happy

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter. A big thanks and hugs to everyone who reviewed the chapter, I hope you're still enjoying it. I was going to update eariler, but what with the funeral and going back to college, I didn't really have time. I might be able to update 'It's not the end of the world, baby', this weekend, but I have a Muse concert tommorrow night at Old Trafford (I'm so excited!) and so it won't be tommorrow. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. :) :)_

_Lyrics belong to P!nk._

September 24th, 2012

_It's gonna take a long time to love, it's gonna take a lot to hold on,_

_It's gonna be a long way to happy,_

_Left in the pieces that you broke me into, _

_Torn apart but now I've got to, keep on rolling like a stone, _

'_Cos it's gonna be a long, long way to happy_

Cas was awoken by the sound of someone hammering on his door and yelling his name. Groaning, he struggled upright, shaking Natalie awake.

"What?" she mumbled groggily as he clambered out of bed. He pulled his underwear and jeans on, then threw a shirt over his shoulders, not bothering to button it up. He threw her clothes at her from where they lay crumpled in a pile on the floor, making sure she at least had a shirt on before he flung open the door.

Chuck was stood on the other side, his fist raised as if to hammer on the door again. He dropped it instantly, clutching his ever present clipboard to his chest.

"What?" he snapped. He wasn't known for having a bad temper, like Dean, but he wasn't in the mood for whatever it was Chuck wanted him to do. He had actually been sleeping quite deeply and peacefully for once in a long time.

"Hey Cas," Chuck said nervously, "Natalie."

She raised her middle finger in response.

"What is it, Chuck?" he asked, exasperated.

"You're not gonna believe who Dean has just come back with," he said, his watery blue eyes wide with excitement.

Cas rubbed at his forehead, feeling the dull ache that signalled the beginning of a bitch of a migraine, "Who?"

Chuck seemed to pause for a second before he answered, as if for dramatic effect, "Miriana."

The whole world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, time slowing to a crawl. His heart stopped completely dead for a few seconds, then started beating again at twice the speed. His throat felt bone dry.

"Miriana? Who the hell is Miriana?" Natalie squawked indignantly from behind him. Both he and Chuck ignored her.

"Miriana," he repeated, savouring the sound of her name. He hadn't spoken it in such a long time. "Is she alright?"

Chuck shrugged, "I dunno. She looks a bit rough but she's in one piece."

He swallowed hard, "Where did he find her?"

"A couple of miles out of Camp," Chuck replied, "Apparently she'd run into some trouble with a group of rogues. Its lucky Dean came when he did. From the sound of it, they were just about to beat the crap out of her and Nate."

He felt faintly nauseous. He suddenly remembered the time she had been beaten to within an inch of her life by Zachariah's angels, lying in that hospital bed, frail and bruised and looking as delicate as glass. The sickly feeling intensified. Behind him, Natalie huffed loudly, placing her hands firmly on her hips.

"Where is she now?" he asked, his voice nothing but a rasp.

"The infirmary," Chuck said, "She's getting checked over."

He quickly buttoned up his shirt, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Sure. See you later Natalie," he said nervously, giving her a shaky little wave. She merely rolled her eyes in response and Chuck backed away quickly, shutting the door behind him.

He dashed into the bathroom, splashing a burst of cold water on his face to try and make himself look a little more presentable. He winced as he ran a hand along his jaw, wishing he'd shaved.

Natalie appeared in the door, leaning against the wooden frame, "Just who the hell is this...Miriana woman?"

He leaned heavily against the cool porcelain of the sink, taking a deep breath before he could lose his temper. He spent a lot of time with Natalie, but she wasn't the most understanding or sweet natured of people. In fact at times, she could be a complete bitch.

"She's an old friend," he said, pulling aftershave from the bathroom cupboard and splashing it against the skin of his neck. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, attempting to make it neat in some way.

"I don't usually see guys get so flustered over old friends," she said casually, inspecting her nails, "Especially you. You never get flustered about anything."

He turned from the sink, scrubbing a hand across his forehead, "Are you jealous, or something? 'Cos if you're the jealous type, you might have noticed you're with the wrong guy."

"I'm not jealous," she snapped churlishly.

"You're acting like it."

"Well I don't know," she said, throwing her hands up in obvious frustration, "It's weird, you know. I know all the other girls. And you're always so laid back, with all of us. What makes her so special?"

_You mean aside from the fact she's the only woman I've ever loved? _he thought bitterly. Ignoring the burst of frustration, he carefully placed both hands on Natalie's shoulders, gently rubbing back and forth, "I won't forget about any of you. I just need to see her, okay?"

She huffed again, but she seemed a little mollified. "Alright," she grumbled, folding her arms across her chest, "Just...hurry up."

He briefly kissed her cheek, the raced from the cabin and set off through the dense woods, heading straight for the infirmary, a long cabin close to compound entrance.

He almost walked straight into Tank when he darted up the steps, "Is she in there?"

Tank nodded briefly, gesturing with his thumb, "She's in the treatment room. Nate's in there."

He instantly saw Nate the second he entered the room; it was impossible to miss the shock of blue-black hair and the tall, lanky frame. He was sat slumped in a chair, his long legs stretched out before him, drumming a fast rhythm against the wood. When Dean saw Cas approach, he pushed off from the wall against which he had been leaning and headed towards him.

"I take it someone told you she was here," Dean said matter of factly.

He nodded, "Chuck. Is she really alright?"

Dean shrugged, "She looks like absolute hell, but at least she's in one piece and not infected."

"I can't believe you found her," he said breathlessly, "I thought she was dead."

"Hang on a sec," Dean said, lifting his hand, "Is she gonna wanna see you?"

He frowned, "Why wouldn't she?"

"Well, you two didn't exactly part on the best terms. I mentioned your name to her before and she went all white, like I'd just told her Satan is skipping around the camp."

He snorted derisively, "Are you seriously comparing me to Satan, Dean? I know I can be a bit of a bastard, but I really don't think I'm that bad."

"Look I'm telling you man, she wouldn't even say your name," he said, spreading his hands defensively, "Maybe you should just give her some time."

"I don't want-" he started, but he was cut off by the sound of a door opening at the end of the cabin. Rhea stepped out, her long platinum blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail, dropping a pair of latex gloves in a metal bin beside the door. She had come to the camp before him and Dean, and she had been appointed as one of the doctors, since she was one of the people with the most first aid knowledge.

"You're fine honey," she was saying, "Just rest a lot, and make sure you eat plenty, you're far too thin."

She stepped aside, and he laid eyes on Miriana for the first time in almost a year.

She had been losing weight for a while before she vanished, but he had never seen her so thin. Her cheekbones were sharp, her pale skin stretched too tight over the bones. The plaid shirt she wore seemed several sizes too big for her, hanging off her bony shoulders, and he was sure he could almost see her ribs jutting through the fabric of her shirt. Her glossy dark hair was shorter than it had been, and he briefly wondered how she had managed to keep it so short and the lengths so even when she didn't have a hairdresser to keep it neat. She'd always been ivory pale, but the colour had suited her; now the smooth, pale cream colour her skin had once had seemed too sallow and dull. She seemed so fragile and delicate that the urge to pull her into his arms was overwhelming; it took everything he had to resist. She had the look of a starved, cornered wolf, all lean muscles, sharp bones and wide panicked eyes. Despite all the changes he saw in her, he still thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid his eyes on.

She hadn't noticed him yet; she was too busy being fussed over by Nate. It was only when she hugged her cousin that her eyes finally found him over Nate's shoulder.

Her eyes widened a fraction, and he saw her long thin fingers clench into the fabric of Nate's t-shirt, the knuckles whitening. He stepped back, but he noticed she didn't let go of the back of his t-shirt for a long second, and when she did, her hands stayed tightened into fists. The spark that flared up in her eyes at the sight of him faded, and there was nothing in them when she looked at him. Her face was completely emotionless, and she didn't even flinch when Dean clapped his hands together loudly, trying to alleviate the awkward silence. Nate was looking between his cousin and the ex angel with wide eyes, watching Miriana carefully as if he expected her to suddenly burst into flames.

"Well," Dean said loudly, all heads turning to look at him, "Good to know you're alright, Miriana. We need to get you sorted out with a cabin."

"We'll get our own cabin?" Nate asked, slightly incredulously. Cas supposed any bed with a mattress was a luxury to them after spending months sleeping in a truck and scavenging what they could to eat.

"Sure," Dean said, "You'll have your own rooms too, probably. This place is far from full."

"Really?" Nate asked, a smile breaking out across his face. He had barely changed; the sight of his wide, bright smile and enthusiasm reminded Cas why he had always liked him so much, even though Nate had firmly maintained the belief that an angel was not a good match for his cousin.

He thumped Miriana lightly on the arm, "See I told you we should find a safe zone! I was right!"

"Yeah," she said, very quietly, "You were."

Her voice was rough and scratchy, but the sound of it was like music to him.

"You can celebrate later," Dean snapped, "Chuck's outside, and we need to get you two to your cabin."

He stumped out of the room, and Nate trotted after him obediently, followed by Rhea, who patted Miriana on the arm before she left. She made to follow them, very deliberately keeping her eyes trained on anything but him, but he caught her arm before she could leave, aware suddenly of how thin she really was. It didn't feel like there was an ounce of fat on her.

"Miriana," he murmured, "I thought...God, I thought you were dead."

"Well I'm not," she said, weakly attempting a smile. She tried to pull her arm free, but he tightened his grip, just firm enough so he wouldn't hurt her.

"I've missed you so much," he breathed against her ear, "Since you left..."

"I had to," she whispered, "After everything that happened...I couldn't stay."

He released her wrist, but moved his hand up to cup her face, turning her to look at him. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and her eyes fluttered shut, leaning into his hand. He wondered how long it had been since someone had touched her tenderly.

"Why did you leave me, Miriana?" he asked, "It's been hell without you."

"Don't Cas," she said softly, "Don't make this hard for me."

He lifted his hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face, "Just...don't leave me again."

She looked away from him, dropping his eyes to the ground, "I can't promise that."

He lifted her chin with his hand, meeting her eyes again, "I can be better than I was."

She stared at him for a long second, then she leaned forward and crushed her mouth against his hard, her hands sliding up to grip his hair. He was taken completely by surprise by the force of her mouth and body against his, and for the first few seconds, he didn't respond until she parted her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, worried by how delicate and insubstantial she felt, nothing but skin and bones in his arms. She pressed herself tighter against him, so hard he felt the panicked thump of her heart against his chest, her breathing shallow and rapid. Every kiss he'd ever shared with any woman faded into insignificance; he was suddenly blinded by the long forgotten feeling of her mouth against his, and before he knew it, she was crushed between him and the wall, her back slamming against the wood. He could taste the desperation and longing in her, mixed with the sharp caustic taste of fear and desire, a harsh bite on his tongue. It reminded him of the way they had been before she had left, all the tenderness gone and nothing left but tears, sex and anger.

He was very aware that anyone could walk in at any point, but at that moment, he didn't care. He wanted her so badly he ached. Her hands moved down to his shoulders, her nails scraping against the fabric of his shirt, then he felt her shove against him, pushing him away so hard he staggered backwards. She stayed with her back pressed against the wall, her chest heaving, and a fevered flush in her cheeks and trailing down her slender throat.

"I can't," she gasped, "I can't do this."

He ran a hand through his hair, sucking in a great lungful of air, his veins running hot with desire.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head, "Everything is wrong. This is wrong. I'm so pathetic; after everything you did I'm still running to you like some desperate whore. I can't be with you, it's twisted!"

"I told you," he said gently, "I'll change."

He reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched away from him. His heart gave a painful twist in his chest.

"You always said that," she said bitterly, "And then the next week you'd be back on the pills and the booze and the women, crawling in at three in the morning when I've been up all night waiting for you, smelling of some hooker's perfume!"

He felt guilt lodge itself firmly in his chest, sharp and painful. The pain in her eyes made him feel sick.

"We still loved each other," he said desperately, "We must have done, to have stuck with each other through that."

"No, we loved the sex," Miriana hissed, "We didn't have anything else."

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say to this, but at that moment, the door slammed back and Dean appeared, a furious expression on his face.

"Are you two gonna-" he stopped dead at the sight of them, Miriana blinking back the tears in her eyes and Cas standing awkwardly, his shoulders drawn tight with tension.

"Everything alright?" he asked, suspicion evident in his voice, his eyes flicking between the two of them.

Miriana said nothing, simply swept gracefully towards the door, purposefully ignoring Dean's searching look as she moved past. Cas made to follow her, eager to alleviate the awkward silence, but Dean stopped him with an outstretched arm.

"Just what the hell did you say to her?" he snapped.

"None of your fucking business," he bit back, trying to head towards the door again. Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun him round, squaring his shoulders.

"She doesn't need any crap off you," he snarled, "I told you to leave her."

"Just back off, Dean," he growled, stomping past him, kicking the door open.

"Just how do you think she's going to react when she finds out about your little orgy sessions huh?" Dean called after him, but he did his best to ignore him. Truthfully, he didn't want to think about how much Miriana would hate him when she discovered how much of a mess he was.


	5. My Happy Ending

_Hi hope you all enjoy this chapter. I know it's a bit short but things have been a bit hectic recently so I haven't had much time. For those that read It's not the end of the world baby, I promise I will update it soon. A huge thank you as always to everyone who has taken the time to review, I hope you're still enjoying it. :) :) :)_

_Lyrics belong to Avril Lavinge_

_You were everything, everything that I wanted, _

_We were meant to be supposed to be, but we lost it,_

_All of the memories so close to me just fade away, _

_All this time you were pretending, so much for my happy ending_

Nate was ridiculously excited about the fact that they had their own cabin with actual beds and a shower with hot water (most of the time). Miriana tried to go along with his enthusiasm, but found she simply didn't have the energy to be excited about anything.

She did love the cabin, even if she couldn't bring herself to show it. Her room was small, but there was a large pine cupboard against the wall, currently empty, and a wide bed with a soft, spongy mattress that felt like heaven after sleeping cramped up in the driver's seat of the truck, waking up with a stiff neck and twisted spine. The bathroom was bigger than she would have thought, and she was thrilled to see there was a hot temperature on the dial for the water control, and a proper flushing toilet and a sink. Nate had his own room, and there a lounge space with a long, slightly battered couch and a squashy armchair in the corner. The walls were lined with bookcases that were only partly empty, and there was a fireplace in the corner of the room, which someone had filled with roughly hewn logs. A shaggy, slightly ragged rug covered part of the hard wooden floor. Dean, Rhea and Tank hovered in the doorway, Dean not once taking his eyes off Miriana, who sank slowly onto the sofa.

"Do you like it?" Tank asked, leaning back against the doorframe.

"Definitely," Nate exclaimed, running his fingers along the worn out spines of the books on the shelves.

"Miriana?" Tank questioned. She nodded, only finding her voice after a long pause. Without thinking, she fiddled with the pendant around her neck.

"Yes," she rasped.

"Uh...Rhea, Tank," Dean said loudly, "Why don't you take Nate and show him the canteen and the storeroom. I just need a chat with Miriana."

He cast Rhea a very meaningful look, and she swept over to Nate, grabbing his arm and steering him out of the room, chattering away about how much she had to show him.

Dean waited until the sound of their voices faded away, then he softly closed the door and carefully sat down in the armchair opposite Miriana.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his green eyes dark with concern.

"I'm fine," she said, internally wincing when her voice trembled.

"You don't look fine," he said matter of factly, "What did he say to you?"

She sighed heavily, "Dean, please don't make me talk about it. There's nothing to talk about anyway."

"Bullshit," Dean muttered, "Every time anyone mentions him you look like someone's just socked you in the gut, and you can deny it if you want, but you were crying before, Miriana."

"I was not," she said, trying to retain a dignified tone, but it came out churlish.

"Yeah you were," he said, "What did he say to you?" he asked again.

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly, "Anything that happened between me and Cas in the past."

Dean leaned back in the chair, regarding her carefully, "Is he the reason you left? Back in Detroit?"

"You know the reason I left, Dean," she said in a quiet voice, "Sam."

At the mention of his younger brother's name, what little colour there was left in Dean's face completely drained away. His hands curled into tight fists, and when he spoke, his voice was cautiously controlled.

"You left _us _because of what _he_ did? How was that our fault?"

"It wasn't your fault," she said, "I'm not saying that. I had to leave, Dean. I couldn't take it anymore. What Sam did was just...the catalyst. Just part of the reason."

"Was Cas the rest of the reason?" he said doggedly.

She took a deep breath before she continued, "Yes. Maybe. I...don't know."

"He hurt you, right?" when she didn't answer, he continued, "I'm not stupid, Miriana. I heard the fights; those shitty motel walls are surprisingly thin."

"Every couple has fights," she said matter of factly. She reached for the necklace again, and deliberately dropped her hand. Her body language was giving everything away.

"Not you two," Dean said, shaking his head, "You were so...together. I'm not into all that soppy crap, but he adored you. He still does, I reckon."

"If he really adored me, he wouldn't have gotten pissed and slept with all those women, out all night while I was worried sick," she snapped.

She saw something flash across Dean's face, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, then instantly closed it. She had the sudden feeling that he was hiding something from her.

"He was a mess, Miriana," Dean said, slightly defensively, "You know that. He was being hounded by demons, his brothers and sister were leaving him trapped in some poor bastard's skin, and the world was falling apart, _and_ he had to deal being human. That has to fuck with your head."

She felt anger flood into her veins, "Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? Don't defend him, Dean. I tried to help him, I did. I was the one who had to deal with all his nightmares, all the drinking and the pill taking, but he just threw it back in my face every time he left me to fuck all those women!"

"I know, I know," Dean said, holding his hands up, "I'm just saying...you leaving...it killed him."

"Good," she hissed, "Maybe he'll understand how it feels to love someone and have them turn their back on you. I hope it hurt like a bitch."

Dean looked slightly shocked, "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," she said bitterly, "He deserves it."

A tense silence descended over the room, and Miriana slouched back against the cushions of the sofa, folding her arms. She felt suddenly exhausted.

"Look," Dean said quietly, "I just need to know you can deal with being around him. Everyone has to work together here."

"I can deal with it," she said shortly.

"I'm not asking you to forgive him, just to-"

"I'm fine with it," she snapped, cutting across him.

"Good," Dean said, the slightest hint of a smile in his voice, "I really need you here. Your pain in the ass obsessive compulsive organisation could really come in handy."

She smiled, something she hadn't done for a long time. It felt unusual and slightly painful, like trying to stretch a pulled muscle.

Dean got to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his weathered jeans, "I'll have someone sort out some supplies for you and Nate, toiletries and clothes and stuff. We tend to all eat together some nights, in the canteen near the infirmary. Six thirty."

"I'm not hungry," she said immediately. Dean sighed heavily, turning his 'don't make me tell you what's good for you' look onto her.

"Miriana," he said sternly, "You're skin and bones. Don't go all Lindsay Lohan on me and crash diet."

She laughed, "I'm not crash dieting Dean; I've been scavenging food from supermarkets for months! I didn't really have a choice. I'm just not hungry."

"Yeah whatever," Dean said, heading for the door, "You're coming. And you're gonna eat."

He paused when he reached the door, "Miriana?"

She stopped on her way towards the shower, turning back to face him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're here," he said solemnly.

For a brief second, she saw the Dean she remembered from her teenage years, the Dean that had existed before he had been warped by hell and twisted by his brother's betrayal, that old glimmer back in his green eyes.

"Thanks," she said, suddenly feeling choked with tears.

He cleared his throat, gave her a sheepish smile and backed out the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

She stood stock still for a few long seconds, fighting the urge to cry. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and her throat felt tight, but she swallowed the feelings easily. She was used to keeping her emotions under lock and key.

She took advantage of the empty cabin, heading straight for the shower. She hadn't had a proper hot shower in far too long; she felt grimy and uncomfortable. Her jeans and t-shirt felt completely filthy and caked in dirt, blood and sweat, but she didn't have anything else to wear; all the clothes she and Nate had had been left in the truck and she wasn't in the mood to try and navigate her way back around the camp to try and find it. So she neatly folded her t-shirt and jeans and placed them carefully on the sideboard in the bathroom, stepping into the shower and twisting the dial so water sputtered from the shower head. It was icy cold at first, so cold it made her gasp, but after a few minutes, the water heated up until it was almost boiling. There was a small plastic bottle of minty smelling shampoo and a bottle of body wash, which she wasted no time in using. She worked the shampoo through her hair, teasing out the knots, wincing as it tugged at her scalp.

She stayed under the water for a long time, letting the heat and steam loosen her tense muscles. After almost fifteen minutes soaking herself under the hot spray, she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a long cream towel that someone had left hanging over the towel rail. She scrubbed her hair dry and tugged a comb through it a few times, then she slouched into her new bedroom and threw herself down on the bed, rolling onto her back.

Alright, so the camp wasn't as bad as she thought. In fact, the cabin she and Nate shared was nicer than most of the motel rooms she had stayed in when she was on hunts in the past. At least she wasn't worried that this mattress was infested with fleas. She hadn't met many of the people yet, but she had the cabin to hide in if she needed to. And if things got really bad, she still had the keys to the truck in the pocket of her jeans.

She glanced at the clock on the wood panelled wall; it read five thirty. An hour until she had to make an appearance at the canteen. Despite all of Dean's demands on the matter, and the subtly veiled threat that he would drag her from the cabin if necessary, she didn't think she would go. She couldn't face a whole camp full of new, curious faces just yet. And she couldn't face him again.

She twisted the chain of her necklace between her fingers, as she always did whenever she thought of him. She hadn't expected him to look so different. His dark hair was longer than it had been, and the stubble he had always had on his chin had developed into something close to a beard. She was surprised by how much it suited him; it made him look scruffy, but in a good, rugged sort of way. The weathered jeans and plaid shirts suited him even better than the trench coat and suit had. He looked good, she thought; much better than she looked. She hated him for it.

It had been a mistake to kiss him, a huge stupid, painful mistake. She just hadn't been able to stop herself; she'd been on the road for so long, away from any human contact, lonely and desperate, and the sight of him had reminded him why she fell in love with him in the first place. There was just something about him, a spark of something that made him magnetic and compelling. She could fully understand why all those women had been so attracted to him, why it was so easy for him to walk into a bar and turn heads. All those years spent walking unnoticed amongst humans as an agent of God, and the second he turned human all he got was attention. Maybe there was some sort of allure to a fallen angel. Truthfully, she wanted the old Cas back, the man who had been so strong, the slightly awkward guy who blushed every time she innocently touched him. She wanted her angel back.

Of course she didn't really hate him; not completely. A part of her, a part that she kept locked away, still loved him, still longed for him so badly it was like she had a stomach full of knives. She wanted to forgive him, but something ingrained in her mind, in her very nature, wouldn't let her. She hated betrayal, and he had betrayed her countless times, every time he choked back another bottle of pills or stumbled into the nearest bar to find another woman who was prettier than her. She was sick and tired of being so compliant with everyone, tired of being so soft. Most women would not have stood for everything Cas did to her, would have thrown him out of left long before she did, but she hadn't been able to. As pathetic as she thought it sounded, she had loved him too much to let him slip away from her, after everything they had been through together. In the end, he was the only thing left she had to cling to, apart from Nate. Dean had been lost to her long ago. Sam too.

She swung her legs off the bed, dropping the towel and sliding back into her jeans and t-shirt, wincing at the grimy material slid over her clean skin. She gave herself a critical once over in the mirror, running her fingers over the deep bruise-like shadows underneath her eyes, wincing when she pulled her top up and saw her ribs pushing against her pale, sallow skin. She had never thought of herself as pretty, but she definitely wasn't anymore. Now she looked starved, half dead, nothing but bones and ashen skin. With a sudden burst of fury at the unfairness of the world, she snapped the fine silver pendant free from around her neck, throwing it against the wall, watching it skitter across the floorboards. She slumped back onto the bed, her eyes burning and her hands trembling. When she reached up to touch her eyes, the tips of her fingers came back wet.

She jumped out of her skin when the door of the cabin banged back, and she hastily wiped her eyes, scrubbing away the tears.

"Well I'm definitely gonna get lost in this place; everything looks the friggin' same, I mean it's so-"

He stopped when he saw her, her eyes red and cheeks blotchy.

"You alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah fine," she said in a falsely bright tone, turning away and busying herself with the duvet cover, even though it was perfectly neat.

"Hey," he grabbed hold of her shoulder and turned her around, "If you don't wanna stay, we can leave-"

"Nate its fine," she said forcibly, "I'm just tired."

He frowned, very aware she was hiding something, but he stepped backwards out of her room, "Well...alright. Just...try and get some sleep."

"Will do," she said, flashing him a thumbs up.

He shut the door carefully, leaving her alone once more in her room. Sighing heavily, she yanked the worn curtains across the window, blotting out the muted light of the late afternoon. She sank heavily onto the mattress, pulling the duvet over her head, covering herself in warm, muffled darkness. It was easier not to think when the world around her was physically blocked out.

She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. She was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't let her rest. She felt oddly vulnerable without her necklace, like something had been stripped away from her, leaving her unprotected. The pendant had no actual protective powers, but it was a comfort to her regardless. Her neck felt somehow cold, like she'd removed a scarf instead of jewellery.

She threw the covers off the bed and padded silently across the cool wooden floorboards, kneeling down when she caught sight of the gleam of silver in the corner. She knelt down and carefully picked it up, fastening it around her neck. Just before she clambered back into bed, she rifled through the pockets of her leather jacket, which had been hung on the wardrobe until her fingers closed around the silky material of the tie. She pulled it loose and pressed the fabric to her nose; it still held the scent of him, cologne and sunshine. She crawled into bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and clutching the tie in her hands. With the scent of him in her nose, she eventually succumbed to sleep.


	6. Sleep

_Hi, hope you're all okay. I was also going to update It's not the end of the world baby this weekend, but on Friday morning my grandma passed away, so I haven't had the chance to edit it and I want to change a few things, but I promise I'll update it soon. I also have to apologize again for any slow updates in the next few weeks but I have to go through the funeral and everything again, and the horrible task of having to clean my grandparents house out. Anyway, you were all really great when Granddad died and your kind comments made me feel a lot better. A big thank you to all the reviewers and readers, you make my day :) On a lighter note, I've found a website I can watch supernatural on in England, Watch series if anyone is interested. And this weeks episode; How cute is Dean with a baby? _

_Lyrics belong to My Chemical Romance_

_A drink, for the horror that I'm in, for the good guys and the bad guys,_

_For the monster that I've been, three cheers for tyranny,_

_Unapologetic apathy, cos there's no way that I'm coming back again_

_And through it all, how could you cry for me, cos I don't feel for anything,_

_So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep. _

_The hardest part, is the awful things that I've seen. _

Castiel lifted the spliff to his lips and took a long drag, sighing heavily when the thick, pungent smoke filled his lungs. He needed some stronger weed; he'd smoked so much of the stuff he felt certain he was desensitized to it. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, glad for the peace and quiet of this deserted corner of camp. He couldn't think with all the noise around him.

He had always expected to feel elated if they ever found Miriana, but he only felt cold and oddly empty. Things had not changed; what was that saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Evidently not in Miriana's case. The look in her eyes before she'd left the infirmary had been pure hatred. She might be living in the same camp as him now, but she was the furthest away from him that she'd ever been.

He briefly wondered why she still wore the pentagram necklace he had given her so long ago, the day she turned thirty. If she hated him so much, surely she would eradicate all traces of him from her life, cut him out completely, like a cancer. But she still wore the necklace, and she had still kissed him.

He took another long drag of the spliff, trying hard not to think about the amount of damage he was causing to his borrowed body with all of his substance abuse. He knew Jimmy wouldn't care; he had long since been silent. Still, he couldn't help but worry sometimes.

He tensed when he heard the sound of twigs snapping close by, the rustling of leaves as someone approached.

"Cas?" questioned a familiar female voice.

Naomi appeared from around the back of the tree, "Where have you been? I've been looking for you for ages. The others are pissed; you were supposed to hold a session tonight."

Tonight? He hadn't even realized how late it was. He glanced at the fragmented pieces of sky that showed through the canopy of leaves and found the sky had darkened to a deep indigo blue.

"You've been gone for ages," she stated unhelpfully, sitting cross legged opposite him.

Naomi was one of his girls, (or 'harem', if you asked Dean), the youngest of the group at only nineteen. She was the easiest to get along with; unlike the others, she was quiet, kind hearted and not prone to sudden fits of jealous tantrums. He knew the only reason she was a part of the group was because she wanted to feel accepted and loved, and he didn't blame her for it, after growing up in a world like the one they found themselves in. But he couldn't help but feel guilty at using someone so young, corrupting her the way he did. Part of the reason he liked her so much was because, although he would never admit it, she reminded him of Miriana, the one he had known before her mangled, broken heart had turned her bitter. She was kind and quietly intelligent, and she had eyes so like Miriana's it hurt to look at them sometimes. The others could easily take care of themselves, but Naomi was vulnerable, something he had once seen Miriana as, back when he first met her and she felt as delicate as glass compared to his angelic strength. He took another long drag of the spliff, careful to blow the cloying smoke away from her.

"Tell them it's cancelled," he finally said, "I'm not in the mood."

"They won't like that," she said quietly, pulling her thick grey hoodie tighter around her. He hadn't even realized how cold it was; when he tried to flex his fingers, he found they were completely stiff.

"Tough," he muttered.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He fought the urge to laugh bitterly. He hadn't been okay for a very long time.

"I'm peachy," he answered.

She leaned back a little, regarding him carefully with her wide dark eyes, "It's that woman, isn't it?"

He briefly wondered how she knew about Miriana so quickly, and if the others were aware of her yet.

"What woman?"

"That dark haired woman that Dean brought into the camp," she said, "I saw her at the infirmary before. What was her name again...Mel...Mi..."

"Miriana," he finished for her.

"Yeah that's it," she said, "It's her you're hung up on, isn't it?"

"She has got nothing to do with anything," he muttered sullenly.

"Yeah she has," she continued, "I was talking to Natalie earlier. She said you got all flustered when Chuck told you she was here."

"She's just an old hunting friend," he said as calmly as he could manage. That was always the cover when people at camp asked him why he knew Dean and the reason for all his knowledge on demons and Croats. A drug taking, alcohol swilling, sex mad fallen angel trapped in the vessel of a thirty four year old married man with a kid just seemed a little too crazy for people to stomach.

"Yeah right," Naomi said, "We all guessed you were hung up on something, what with all your drinking and drugs and sex. We all just thought it was the end of the world that had you messed up, but I guess it's her, right?"

He sighed heavily, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, "She's part of it, yeah."

"So what, did she cheat on you or something?" she asked.

"More like the other way around," he admitted, "I was a bastard."

"Well you don't strike me as a commitment kind of guy," Naomi said matter of factly.

"I used to be," he said, "But..."

He didn't want to go into the past between him and Miriana. It was too complicated and far too painful to share.

She scrutinized him carefully, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

He got to his feet, dropping the last crumbling remnants of the spliff onto the floor and stomping on it to put out the smouldering embers. She stood up with him, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers were warm against his icy skin.

"I'm sure she'll come around," she said softly.

He shook his head, "No, she won't. When she finds out what I've become, she'll never look at me again."

He set off walking, crunching through the thick carpet of leaves and branches that lay across the forest floor. There were a few pockets of the camp that weren't built up with log cabins, and he had his favourite haunts where he disappeared too when things got too much. He might have dealt with losing his powers and being locked inside Jimmy's body, but things still got to him, and completely detaching himself from human contact was the only way he could keep his internal struggles under control. He was only human, after all.

"You know you'll have to rearrange the session," Naomi began diplomatically, "Otherwise Natalie and Amanda will rip your balls off. You know how possessive and controlling they get."

"Yeah I know," he muttered, "Do they all know about Miriana yet?"

Naomi looked a little sheepish, "It's impossible for them not to have heard about it. Everyone in the camp is talking about her. It seems a lot of people here know the name Westchild."

"She was a good hunter, back before the virus broke out," he said, "A lot of people went to her for help."

They passed Rhea, who was carrying an armful of antibiotics in plastic cases; she nodded to Cas as she walked past.

"I tried to keep their noses out of it," Naomi continued, "But Natalie was there when you went running off, and she's told everyone about her. You'll just have to brace yourself for the grilling you're going to get."

"I can handle it," he said calmly, "They'll forget about it as soon as they knock back the first lot of weed."

Naomi sighed heavily, "I guess."

He stopped in front of his cabin, which was fortunately free from a horde of jealous women hovering outside. He leaned forwards and gave Naomi a long, lingering kiss, the kind that might the heat climb up a few degrees.

"Night," he murmured, when he pulled away.

"Err...yeah sure," she said dazedly, turning and slowly wandering away towards the direction of her cabin.

He wearily climbed up the creaking wooden steps, pushing aside the curtain of beads that hung over his the doorframe and pushed open the door. He rarely bothered with a closing the door; everyone in the camp knew perfectly well what Cas got up to and had done since virtually the day he had arrived, so he saw no point in privacy. Nobody on camp was likely to slip in at night and cut his throat while he slept, so he didn't really feel the need to have his door shut and locked, something Dean had never really understood.

He slumped wearily onto his wide double bed, kicking off his mud encrusted boots. He rubbed a hand across his face, wincing at the feeling of the day old stubble on his face. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, along with his jeans, throwing them into a haphazard pile on the floor. If Miriana was here now, he knew she would have tutted loudly and collected his clothes from the pile in the corner and fold them neatly on the end of the bed.

He leaned back against the mattress, tired but unable to sleep. His mind buzzed, and even the weed he had smoked hadn't taken the edge off his anxieties. It wasn't unusual for him to feel restless and uncomfortable in his own skin, but the sight of Miriana had set him on edge. She looked so...defeated. he wondered how much of the old Miriana still existed inside the pale skin and jagged bones that she had been reduced to. He reached across the bed, running his fingers over the cold fabric. He wasn't used to sleeping alone; he couldn't deal with the nightmares sleep brought. He would always wake feeling breathless and coated in cold, sticky sweat, the flash of fire behind his eyelids, smoke in his nose and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He remembered the first time he had a nightmare, after the virus had broken out in Chicago.

_The city was burning. He could feel the heat of the fires against his skin, as hot as the fires that smouldered endlessly in Hell. There were bodies everywhere, littered across the blood soaked tarmac of the street. There was screaming, but it seemed oddly muffled, as if it was very far away. Shards of broken glass splintered underneath his feet. He didn't want to look too closely at the bodies, worried that he might see someone he recognized. Terrified he might see Miriana. _

_He froze when Lucifer stepped out from behind a tall building at the end of the boulevard, a few paces in front of him, wearing a pristine white suit, not a speck of dirt or grime on the fabric. He smiled widely, showing Sam Winchester's even white teeth._

"_Castiel," he said, "What a surprise to find you here."_

"_Where's Miriana?" he asked. _

_He frowned, confusion across Sam's face, "Miriana?"_

_Realisation dawned across his features, "Ah of course. Your little woman."_

_He clenched his fists so tight he felt sure his knuckles would burst from his skin. _

_Lucifer gave another wide smile, but there was something very cold and unsettling about it, "I don't take kindly to people who get in my way."_

_He stepped aside, showing a slim figure lying across the tarmac, blood pooling underneath, trickling across the road. He threw himself across the distance, dropping to his knees when he saw the familiar glossy dark hair, the gleam of the silver pentagram charm around her neck. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her cold body against him. She felt so heavy. _

"_That's why you should never get attached to humans," Lucifer said, his tone almost sympathetic, "Especially not women. They can be such enticing little things."_

_He could feel her thick blood soaking through the back of her shirt, seeping through his jeans, hot and sticky against his skin. Her dark eyes were sightless and glassy, staring at the dull grey sky above them without seeing. He felt warm tears run down his face, falling against her cold, pale cheeks. _

"_Why?" he choked, looking up at his brother, who merely regarded him with cold green eyes, the eyes of someone he had once counted as one of his only friends. _

"_Because little brother," Lucifer said, Sam's face twisted into a mask of hatred, "I can."_

_He jerked awake, scrabbling at the covers, suddenly feeling as if he was suffocating. He bolted upright, gasping great breaths into his lungs, wiping a sheen of cold sweat away from his forehead. He could see Lucifer's gloating face in front of him, hear the screaming, and feel Miriana, cold and lifeless underneath his hands, the metallic smell of her blood in his nose. He scrubbed at his skin, half expecting to feel her blood coating his skin. He fumbled across the bed until he felt her warm, very much alive skin beneath his fingers. _

_She stirred underneath his hand, "What?" she muttered groggily, "Cas, sweetheart, what is it?"_

_He didn't say anything, unable to catch his breath. He simply wrapped his arms tight around her, crushing her against his chest._

"_Hey, you're choking me," she mumbled sleepily, and he released his hold a little, but still refused to let her go. _

"_What's wrong?" she murmured softly, running a hand softly through his hair. _

"_I saw you die," he choked against her shoulder._

_He felt her tense for a brief second, "It was just a nightmare," she said soothingly. _

_He leaned back so he could see her face, her skin pale in the half light of their hotel room, her hair mussed from sleep, "It felt so real."_

_She took his hand in hers and held it over her chest, right over the place where her heart beat steadily against her ribs. _

"_I'm fine," she said softly, "It wasn't real."_

_He concentrated on the feeling of her steady heartbeats, trying to calm the rhythm of his to hers. _

"_How do you stand being human?" he asked, the feeling of his heart breaking when he found her body still fresh in his mind, "How can you take all the pain? All the fear?"_

_She smiled sadly, "We don't have any other choice."_

_He rested his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her perfume, feeling her pulse beneath his cheek. She stroked his hair and the back of his neck slowly, rubbing away the tension in his muscles. _

"_I love you," he murmured against her neck, "I love you so much."_

"_I know," she said softly, "I love you too."_

"_Don't ever leave me," he pleaded, pulling back so he could see her face, her warm dark eyes, "I don't think I can survive without you."_

_She frowned, worried; she had never seen him this vulnerable before. He was always the strong one. _

_She touched his lips gently with her fingertips, "I won't. I promise."_

_He seemed to sigh in relief, then laid back against the pillows, pulling Miriana against his chest. She traced invisible patterns across his bare chest with the tips of her fingers, following the line of his collarbone, a phantom touch across his skin. _

He was jerked out of his reverie by a knock at his door. He sat upright to find Dean leaning against the doorpost, a typical dark look on his face.

"Ah our fearless leader," Cas said cheerfully, knowing how much the nickname pissed him off, "What can I do for you?"

"We need to talk," Dean said firmly, striding into the room and pulling a chair across the floor, throwing himself onto it, "About Miriana."

He kept the blasé smile on his face, but his heart began to back flip inside his chest and he felt sick, "What about Miriana?"

"About the fact that you need to keep well away from her," Dean said in dark voice, "Don't speak to her, don't go near her, don't even look at her. You understand?"

The smile dropped from his face, and he felt of coil of fury in his chest. Dean had no right to tell him what to do, especially not where Miriana was concerned.

"If I want to talk to Miriana, I will," he said in a tightly controlled voice, "And if she wants to talk to me, she will. You're not her father Dean, however protective you might feel towards her. She's a grown woman."

Dean's face darkened considerably, but when he spoke, his voice was just as controlled as his own, "You really think she's gonna wanna talk to you? After everything you did?"

The surprise must have shown on his face, because Dean gave a sharp nod, "Oh yeah, I know. Miriana might not have told me everything, but I could guess most of it. The fights, you stumbling in at two in the morning with another woman on your arm, Miriana crying as she cleared away the empty pill and alcohol bottles you'd left behind. No wonder she left you."

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, "You don't know anything."

"I know enough," Dean snapped, "Besides, what's your problem? You've got your little harem of whores, your drugs and your booze, what could you possibly want Miriana for? You obviously don't love her the way I thought you did."

He got to his feet, a clear sign the conversation was over.

"Is that it?" Cas snapped, "Is that all you came to talk to me for?"

"Pretty much," Dean said in a cold voice, "Oh, and you're needed on duty tomorrow morning."

With that, he swept from the room without another word.

He watched him go, fury bubbling in his chest. He knew Dean was right about one thing, at least. Miriana would not want to talk to him, especially not once the news of his orgies reached her ears, which he had the feeling it would very soon. But he still didn't appreciate being told he was banned from speaking to her.

He got up from the bed and headed to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room, opening the top drawer and rifling through the neatly folded piles of shirts until his fingers brushed against the lid of a wooden box. He pulled it loose and flipped it open, revealing a small, tattered photograph. It was the same photograph he had pulled from Miriana's photo album years ago, the night before he had faced off against Raphael and died trying to stop Sam raising Lucifer from the pit. She smiled up at him, her eyes glossy. Underneath lay a long thin scarf, and he tugged it loose and lifted the fabric against his nose. It still held the scent of her; her favourite perfume, a light citrus scent, still clung to the material. She'd left in the back seat of the Impala the day she'd run away, and he'd kept it with him ever since, first in the inside pocket of his jacket, which he'd taken from an abandoned clothing store in Dakota, then in the wooden box he kept hidden in the bottom of his drawer, where it wouldn't raise awkward questions.

He slumped back against the mattress, running the thin material of the scarf between his fingers. He leaned across the bed and flipped the light off, plunging the room into almost total darkness. There were still lights around the camp, a few inside the compound and many bright white spotlights around the edges, to illuminate any croats that stumbled close to the camp. It was almost silent outside, only the occasional noise of footsteps and voices, or the rustling of the trees as the wind rushed through them. He fumbled on the bedside table, rifling through the top drawer until he his fingers closed around the plastic bottle of sleeping pills. He shook out a handful onto his palm and knocked them back with a glass of water, almost choking around the mouthful of pills.

He laid back against the mattress, and like every other night, he waited for the pills to take effect, to knock him virtually into unconsciousness. He stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering what Miriana was doing, if she was wide awake too, staring at the ceiling, terrified to fall asleep in case she was lost in the grip of nightmares. Miriana had been the perfect sleeping pill, the perfect anaesthetic; he hadn't ever really needed booze or pills when things between them had been good. With her gone, he knew if he stopped taking the pills he'd fall apart, disintegrate into pieces. His grace had already decayed into non existence; humanity had eaten away at it like a cancer. He was barely holding the rest of himself together.

It took well over forty five minutes for him to fall into a restless, dreamless sleep.


	7. Hardest of Hearts

_Hey, hope you all enjoy this chapter. A big thank you and virtual hugs to anyone who left a review on the last chapter, I now it was a while ago. For those who read It's not the end of the world, I ahould hopefully update that later this week. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Lyrics belong to Florence and the Machine. _

_There is love in your body but you hold it in,_

_It pours fromn your eyes and spills from your skin_

_Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks _

_And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts_

"What the hell are you doing up so early?" was the first thing Dean said to Cas the next morning, "Shouldn't you still be rolling around with a load of women in a drug haze?"

"Shut the fuck up will you?" he snapped.

Dean gave a bitter laugh, "What's up with you? One of your harem blown you off? Or have you just run out of pot?"

He thought of Miriana, her dark eyes burning with hatred, her voice dripping with venom, "Yeah something like that."

Dean seemed to sense something in his tone, because he immediately dropped it. He may even colder and crueler than ever, but he knew better than to push Cas too far. They had both received enough bruises from that.

He followed Dean into the weapons room, where Rhea and Tank were already taking stock of weapons and ammo.

"How're we doing?" Dean asked. Rhea pulled a face and pushed a stack of papers towards him.

"Not bad, but not great either," she answered, "We're going to be running low on ammo soon."

"Food stocks aren't much better by the sounds of things," Tank said, running a hand through his short sandy hair, "Chuck said we have a few weeks supply, tops."

"We're gonna have to run raid soon," Dean said, rifling through the papers Rhea had given him.

"Well worked out genius," Cas muttered, smiling widely when Dean flashed him a furious glare.

Tank unrolled a large map of the surrounding area, which was almost completely covered in red crosses, which showed the places they had already cleared out.

"We need to go further afield," Tank said, pointing to a large, unmarked area that Cas knew full well was swimming with Croats, "We have reports that there's a huge Wall Mart of the interstate. We should be able to get everything we need there."

"You are aware that the whole place is swarming with Croats," Cas said nonchalantly, leaning back against the wall, "Hundreds of them easily."

Dean flashed him another angry glare, which he pointedly ignored, "Yeah we know," Tank grumbled, "But do you have a better idea hotshot?"

He gave a lazy shrug in response, and he had the strong impression that Tank would quite like to launch himself over the desk and throttle him. Then again, he got that impression from most people nowadays.

"We need to do this tomorrow," Rhea said, in an obvious attempt to diffuse the tension, "I'll round everyone up and let them know. The sooner we replenish our stocks the better. I don't want people getting antsy on us; you remember how well that went last time."

He remembered full well; things had gotten so desperate in the camp and supplies had run so low, a fight had broken out over a bottle of water, which had resulted in a man being shot. Dean had thrown the murderer and his friends out of the camp, which no doubt meant they were now either Croat food or one of the monsters themselves. He didn't think any of them had a desire to return to that.

Dean pushed away from the desk, "Fine. You get it sorted Rhea, and we'll roll at six thirty tomorrow."

Rhea nodded and moved away into the back of the room, disappearing between the rows and rows of neatly stacked weapons, Tank close behind her. Dean strode out of the cabin, and Cas loped after him, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets.

He fell into step next to Dean, "I suppose you want me to come on this raid tomorrow?"

Dean snorted, "I don't really care either way. I can cope without you, you know."

"Yeah I'm useless now," he muttered sullenly, "I guess my grace was the only thing I had going for me. But then again, we have you, our fearless leader."

Dean rounded on him then, "What the hell is wrong with you today? You're being a bigger dick than usual."

"Like you said," he snapped coldly, "I must have run out of pot or something."

He slouched off, deliberately kicking through piles of leaves and scraping his boots against the gravel. He stumped up the steps to the dining hall, deliberately ignoring Chuck when he gave him a shaky little wave.

His eyes found her immediately when he entered the room, sat in the very furthest corner, picking at a bowl of cereal, lifting the flakes and letting them drop back into the bowl without any of them passing her lips. She seemed oblivious to everyone else in the room, despite the chatter and the very obvious stares she was receiving, her eyes fixed on the wood of the table. She looked up briefly, met his eyes for the most fleeting of seconds, then returned her gaze back to the wood, like she had never seen him. Pointedly ignoring Natalie's calls, he weaved between the long tables littered with people and slouched onto the bench opposite her, making as much noise as humanly possible. It had no effect at all; she continued to poke at her cereal, the spoon clinking against the pottery.

"You shouldn't play with your food," he said, a half hearted attempt at humour. She gave him a brief dark look and pushed the bowl away, food untouched. She rested her head on her hands, her eyes still fixed on the bench.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked, eyeing her brittle looking wrists, the way her clothes hung off her. She looked even more tired than he felt, if the bruise like shadows under her eyes were anything to go by.

"Not hungry," she answered, her voice little more than a wisp of sound.

"You should eat," he said, "We have better food than that muesli shit. We even have-"

"Why do you care?" she asked suddenly, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly.

"What do you mean?" he asked, the familiarity of her eyes painful.

"Why do you care whether I eat or not? You didn't care about me before, why the sudden change of heart now?"

"I-" he reached out to touch the back of her hand, but she subtly slid them away, folding her arms on the bench, "I-"

"Aren't you having breakfast with us this morning?" said a sickly sweet voice by his shoulder.

He turned to find Natalie hovering behind him, her long blonde hair neatly tied back in a plait, the neck of her top cut indecently low as usual. Behind her stood Tina, another one of his girls, hands on her hips, glaring at Miriana so fiercely he was convinced he was trying to kill her dead with a mere look.

"I'm busy," he said quietly, "I'll be over in a minute."

He saw Natalie's blue eyes flicker over to Miriana, a clear mix of hostility and curiosity in them, "But we need to talk to you now. You missed your session last night."

He winced internally, wondering how Miriana might interpret that word. One glance at Miriana told him she'd guessed; she was watching Natalie warily from underneath her lashes, the slightest flush in her ivory cheeks. Her nostrils were flared and her bony hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. He knew that look well. She was holding back a flood of anger.

"Can't it wait?" he asked, wishing would Natalie would stop aggressively forcing herself into his personal space.

Before Natalie could answer, Miriana spoke, her voice quiet but clear and very, very cold, "No, Cas don't worry. It's evident you're wanted. If you'll excuse me."

She stood up without looking at him, and swept elegantly towards the door, several pairs of eyes following her. He watched her leave, feeling suddenly as cold as if he had been doused in water, despite the fact he was sitting in a beam of warm autumnal sunlight filtering through the wide windows.

"What's got her panties in a twist?" Natalie asked huffily.

He didn't answer, just continued to stare at the door through which she had left, the emptiness in him nothing to do with hunger. He didn't resist when Natalie tugged impatiently on his arm, just followed her wearily over to the table at which she was sat. He didn't have the energy to argue.

* * *

Miriana hated the place already, after just one night. She hated all the curious stares she got, how hemmed in she felt by the towering chain link fences and hostile armed guards. She had already made the mistake of taking the wrong way to the dining hall and ending up near the fences, where a thuggish looking guard had brandished a gun in her face and quizzed for five minutes solid about where she was going and what she was doing. It was evident that they didn't like people leaving the compound.

She was starving hungry, but anything she tried to eat made her stomach churn and growl angrily at her, so she gave up trying. She was pretty sure she might collapse soon, but she wasn't too bothered. It might give her a break from this horrendous place. She didn't want to go back to her cabin and sit and stare at the four walls like she had done all night. So she just wandered, avoiding human contact as much as possible, until she ended up in the middle of a thicket of huge, wizened trees at the edge of the camp, where the order of the cabins and weapons and neatly tended paths gave way to the dark, unwelcoming forest. There was a chain link fence here, but no guards anywhere to be seen. Miriana guessed they didn't see this side as a threat.

She slumped down onto the forest floor, drawing her knees up to her chest, relieved at the muted silence of this secluded corner of camp. There was no frustrating buzz in her ears, no eyes burning holes in the back of her head. She pulled her pentagram chain out from underneath the collar of her shirt, a plaid one that Rhea had given her until they could find some more clothes and supplies for her. All she could see was that Natalie woman's angry glare as she hovered possessively next to Cas, watching Miriana like she was something she had just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. He hadn't changed at all then. Still playing women like chess pieces. She twisted the fine chain between her fingers, pulling deep breaths of clean into her lungs. She could feel the tiredness from her restless night's sleep taking hold, and she leaned back against the cool metal of the fence, letting her eyes drift closed.

"It's not a good idea to get a bit of shut eye by the fences, darling," came a kindly voice from the shadows, "Them Croats will take anything they can get, and you'd be surprised by how creative they are."

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet, going for her gun, until she remembered she didn't have one, after Dean and his meathead cronies had taken it off her yesterday.

"Don't look so alarmed honey," said the voice again, "I ain't gonna hurt you."

A small, portly dark skinned woman emerged from behind the trees, her thick brown hair swept back into an elegant bun, a wicker basket hanging over one arm. She had warm brown eyes and a kind smile that crinkled up her whole face.

"You're the new lady, ain't you?" she asked, coming a little closer, very slowly, as if she was approaching a particularly skittish horse, "Miriana? Pretty name. Has pagan roots, you know. Derives from the Egyptian Gods."

Miriana said nothing to this useless piece of information. She just stayed pinned against the fence ready to bolt.

"You're a nervous little thing aren't you?" she said, hitching the basket a little further up her arm.

"What are you doing out here?" Miriana asked, her voice coming out far sharper than she intended it to. She had the feeling she would end up frightening everyone in the camp away.

"Don't worry, sweetie," the woman said, kneeling down on the forest floor and tugging a few plants loose from the soil, "I'm not following you. Just getting my herbs."

Miriana watched her curiously as her long fingers flitted across flowers and leaves, pulling a few free and inspecting them, "Herbs?"

"They call me the witch doctor," the woman said, standing up with a grunt of effort, "I think herbs do people the world of good sometimes. All those chemicals in pills can't be good for everyone. My name's Angela by the way. You can call me Angie."

She held out her lined brown hand, and Miriana hesitantly took a step forwards and slipped her hand into hers. They were warm and very soft.

"Oh my my girl, aren't you thin?" she exclaimed, "You look like you ain't had a good meal in years."

Miriana smiled a little, just the slightest quirk of her lips, "I don't think I have."

Angela clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "Well, well that's no good. I need to fix you up with something to fill that bony little body of yours."

She tugged at Miriana's shirt with a shake of her head, "Else you'll fall right out of those clothes."

"I...um...I should...err..." she stuttered, unsure of what to do.

"Come on honey," Angela said, already beginning to pick her way over the gnarled roots and piles of leaves, "I hope you ain't a vegetarian."

* * *

Angela's cabin was warm and homely, and made Miriana instantly feel safe, safer than she had felt in a long time. The smell of chicken stew cooking on the gas hob reminded Miriana of cold days spent snuggled in her Aunt's kitchen, rain pounding outside, the windows steamed up with condensation. It seemed like someone else's life, whilst she was stuck in her own nightmare.

Angela bustled back and forth, talking constantly, though Miriana only listened to about half of it. She was too busy scrutinizing the bookcases against the walls, which were filled from top to bottom with books of every kind, from the Harry Potter series to ancient tomes on demon lore, their leather cracked and split with age.

"Were you a hunter?" Miriana asked, "Before the apocalypse hit?"

Angela sighed, continuing to stir the contents of the cast iron pot slowly, "In a way. I didn't do much actual hunting, but I helped any way I could. Let me tell you, there isn't a thing I don't know about lore, honey. Ask me a question about anything supernatural and I can give you the answer, no problem."

"Did you know...about the apocalypse? Did you know about Lucifer and Michael?"

Angela rested the spoon she was stirring the stew with against the side of the pot, "I knew enough. I know my bible, sweetie. Just never thought it would come true."

"How did you find Camp Chitaqua?" Miriana asked. Angela smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling like crepe paper.

"My my you're a chatty little thing when you want to be, aren't you?" she said, continuing to stir the stew, adding a handful of some sort of spice or herb from a small glass bottle, "I was holed up in a church just on the border of Michigan. I'd been looting supplies for weeks, had them stashed up in the refectory. I hated stealing, but I figured the good Lord wouldn't mind so much, given the state of things. A few people came and went, but I was on my own when they found me."

"Who?"

"Dean and Cas," Angela answered, "They scared me at first, but they're nice boys. Once you get past the guns and the swearing of course."

"Hmmm," was all Miriana said to this. Angela looked up from the stew, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm guessin' you know those two," she said matter of factly, ladling great spoonfuls of stew into a white porcelain bowl.

"I suppose so," Miriana said hesitantly, as Angela carefully placed the bowl in front of her on the scrubbed wooden table.

Angela slumped down into a wide squashy armchair laden with hand knitted cushions,

"You can't ignore the talk buzzing round camp, honey," Angela said, "We ain't half a nosy bunch. Plus I ain't never seen Dean or Cas that happy to see anybody in all the time I've known them."

Miriana slumped back in her seat, "Terrific. I guess I'm the talk of the camp now."

"Eat your stew," Angela demanded, eyeing Miriana's abandoned spoon and bowl, "Everybody knows everybody else's business here, I'm afraid. And we all get to know each other history."

"Why do they have to be so curious?" Miriana muttered sullenly, "It's none of their business."

Angela sighed heavily, "You can't really blame them, sweetie. Not much happens round here except death and grief. Someone new gives us all a little gossip to take our minds off things for a while."

"But I don't want to be gossip," she grumbled, feeling like a petulant child.

"And you won't be, after a while," Angela said calmly, "They'll move onto someone else soon. Eat."

Miriana picked up her spoon, wincing when her stomach gave a loud grumble.

Angela laughed, "Eat child, before you keel over."

Miriana took a mouthful, wincing when her stomach clenched painfully in response to the mixture of herbs and spices. She'd forgotten how long it was since she'd had a delicious home cooked meal, instead of scavenging cold, congealed food from tins.

She was about to take another mouthful when the door banged open, "Hi Angie, I need to-"

She dropped her spoon when she saw who it was, the metal clattering loudly against the wood. Cas opened and closed his mouth a few more times, the finally shut it, shuffling awkwardly on the spot.

"What honey?" Angela asked, looking between the two of them, clearly confused.

Miriana stood up and pushed with the chair back with a loud scrape that was painfully loud, "Thank you for the stew Angela. It was really kind."

Angela peered into the bowl, "But you haven't finished-"

"I'm not hungry," she said, hurriedly cutting across her. It was true; the hunger that had risen up a few minutes ago was suddenly replaced with a surge of bile, the taste sharp in the back of her throat.

"Excuse me," she choked out, dashing for the door. She slipped past him, her arm very lightly brushing his chest, and swept down the steps as fast as she could without tripping.

"Wait," he shouted behind her, loud enough to make several people look up from their tasks curiously, "Miriana wait."

He caught hold of her arm very gently, "Can't we just talk? Just for five minutes?"

She chewed her bottom lip. She wanted to talk to him, badly, but her pride just refused to let her.

"Please?" he murmured. His fingers lightly stroked over where her pulse thudded in her wrist, making her shiver.

"Not here," she said, glancing around at the curious faces turned in their direction, "And not now. Somewhere private, later."

"My cabin then," he said, clearly enthused, "It's three rows down from the breakfast hall. Seven."

"Fine," she said coolly, pulling her arm free none too gently, "I'll be there."


	8. Please Don't Leave Me

_Hi hope you all enjoy this chapter. Sorry it's a little short, but exam revision is pretty much all I have time for at the moment :-/ I hate exam times. Anyway, if anyone else is suffering through A2 exams right now, good luck to you all :) I'll have some better updates for you when they're finished. :)_

The day turned slowly into the evening, and Miriana had nothing to do all day except sit on her bed in her cabin. Earlier in the morning, after she had returned from the breakfast hall, Rhea and Tank had turned up with several large cardboard boxes full of clothes and toiletries. The backpack full of clothes Miriana and Nate had been carrying with them had been through the laundry, and Miriana was impressed that Rhea had managed to get rid of the blood and dirt stains. Rhea handed them over in a neatly folded pile, along with a large collection of jeans, t-shirts, jackets, underwear and when Miriana rifled to the bottom of the bag, she found Rhea had also slipped in a few dresses. She pulled them out, finding three light summery dresses, a long sleeved dress and a small slip of something black and velvety. She had no idea where Rhea had found it, or what she thought she would use it for. Still, she folded it carefully and slipped it to the bottom of her drawer. She spent most of the morning sorting through the piles of clothes and bags of toiletries. She was actually very impressed with the clothes Rhea had found her; she seemed to have put some thought into exactly what Miriana liked. She arranged the deodorants, shampoos, body washes, soap and toothpaste in the bathroom, and put the extras that Rhea had given her in a wicker cupboard in the corner of the room.

Dean had already explained how things worked in the camp. Rhea and Chuck were in charge of supplies in camp and they had a huge store in the middle of the camp in which everything was kept, under lock and key and with a record of what came in and out. It sounded like some impressive organization; in a weird way, Miriana wished she could have been involved in it. She got a little OCD over certain things. They had three huge generators in the camp and lots of solar panels, but electricity was shut off between ten and three every day to conserve as much as possible. Everyone pulled their weight with different tasks, but Miriana hadn't noticed anyone looking particularly stressed, and eve Dean admitted that there always a lot to do around camp. Dean and Tank and a small team of others had control over the weapons and ammunition in a corrugated iron shed that Dean had shown Miriana her second night at the camp. It was lined with maps with a network of lines and dots that made no sense to Miriana, and there was a rota for guard duty posted outside the shed. Dean also explained that a raid took place at least once a week, twice or even three times if supplies were running low. She gathered from Dean's tone that he was hoping she might join his elite team and go out on the raids; he kept dropping subtle hints about how useful her organization might be, and how good she was in a fight. Truth be told, she thought that doing something proactive might take her mind of all the things that lurked in the back of her mind, and kept her awake at night, but she'd spent the better part of the year fighting, and she thought it best to take a break, just for a few weeks until she adjusted.

After she'd spent the morning organizing, she simply lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Nate was out; where, she wasn't sure. He seemed to be settling in far better than she was. He already had a small group of people around his age that had befriended him, and he seemed to spend most of his time with them. She had been resentful at first, but she soon realized she was being unreasonable. He was still young, and he had spent so much time with her, on the run, fighting just to make it through another day in a blood soaked world. He needed a chance to live, rather than just survive. After midday, she had wandered around until she had run into Dean and asked him if she could help with anything, but he simply told her she wasn't stable enough yet. She wasn't sure whether to be concerned or offended. A few minutes later she found Rhea, and again she offered help, but she simply patted her arm in a motherly sort of way and told she needed some rest before she should contribute to camp life.

She hadn't forgotten her arrangement with Cas, but she was sorely tempted not to turn up. She didn't want to confront him, didn't want to dredge up old arguments and put herself through them all over again. She still loved him, and that made it more painful. It would be easier if she hated him, but she couldn't bring herself to do that. It was pathetic, after everything he had done to her that she still obsessed over him like some love sick schoolgirl. She needed to get a grip.

She glanced at the clock on the wall when the sky faded to a deep periwinkle blue. It was six o' clock. She hauled herself off the bed and stumbled into the shower, massaging the new shampoo through her hair, pulling out the knots. She dried her hair with the hairdryer Rhea had dropped off; it kept cutting off and Miriana had the pinch the wire and dry her hair one handed to keep the stream of hot air blowing. She rifled through the collection of new clothes she had amassed, feeling some reason that she needed to wear something special. She even pulled out the velvet dress, but the decided that was ridiculously over the top and threw it to the bottom of her dresser drawer. In the end she decided on a pair of weathered jeans and a long sleeved Ed Hardy shirt that Rhea had apparently taken from designer store on a raid, with several bagfuls of other expensive brands she would never have been able to afford before the world went to hell. She had even shown Miriana her Gucci bracelet, which she gleefully informed her would have cost more than three thousand dollars. Miriana had to wonder what was the point of taking expensive flashy clothes to wear around a camp full of dirty, battered weary survivors, but she supposed it was the small things that kept people going. She had to admit, she had always loved Ed Hardy clothes, but had rarely been able to afford the astronomical charges. She applied a light layer of smoky eyeliner (another gift from Rhea) and sat on her bed and watched the clock tick away to seven o clock. By the time it reached five to and she was ready to set off, butterflies that felt more like rhinos were battering the inside of her stomach.

She set off through the camp, which was bathed in the rapidly fading lavender light of dusk. She saw a few people on the way to Cas's cabin; she saw Chuck carrying a huge box of supplies, followed by a petite woman with kind brown eyes that gave Miriana a tentative smile as she passed. A little further along the path, she saw Dean and a group of ferocious looking men carrying heavy duty rifles heading towards the perimeter of the camp, for guard duty she supposed. Dean gave her a small, manly sort of nod of acknowledgement as she passed.

She reached his cabin all too soon, and saw him lounging against the steps, smoking what she hoped was a cigarette, but she had a strong suspicion it was something else. He didn't notice her at first, and she watched him for a few seconds; taking in the nervous twitch he seemed to have developed, constantly flexing his fingers and jiggling his knee up and down. He had never been like that before; he had always been so still and contained, the perfect soldier. Every few seconds he would squeeze his eyes shut, as if he was suffering from a particularly painful headache. He was scruffier than he had ever been; his stubble had grown into a rough beard, and his dust stained jeans and plaid shirt gave him a slightly trampy look, although he seemed to suit it an odd way. He was a million miles away from the angel she had first met, who was upright and unyielding and so afraid of contact. She wondered if that man even existed anymore, or if he had been killed off by the drugs and booze and sex long ago.

He looked over and jumped suddenly to his feet, dropping whatever it was he was smoking onto the floor and crushing it under his boot. He had a wide smile on his face that couldn't help but be endearing; she almost, almost but not quite, smiled.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered shortly.

"Good, good, well...uh come in," he said, gesturing towards the door, which was wide open. She pushed through the bead curtains. She took a long look around the room, taking in the candles, incense, low bed and Buddhist-looking relics, wondering when he had turned into a hippy. He hurriedly walked and half tidied a little, but she didn't miss the pile of empty whisky and pill bottles before he covered them over with a blanket.

"Still have the same vices I see," Miriana said shrewdly.

He gave a half smile, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

She stood awkwardly, feeling like she was invading a stranger's home. It was partly true in a way; she didn't really know this new Cas at all.

He cleared a space on the rumpled bed, "You can sit down, you know."

She perched on the edge of the bed, and he pulled over a low spindly chair. A heavy awkward silence descended over the room.

"I'm glad you came," he finally said, "I didn't think you would."

"I nearly didn't," she said truthfully, "I'm not entirely sure why I did. I'm not sure what you can you say to me to make anything better."

The cautious half smile he had been wearing dropped.

She crossed her arms firmly across her chest, "Go on then. Talk."

He seemed a little taken aback by her forthrightness. He looked down at his hands and back at her face, his mouth opening and closing a few times.

"I knew this was a waste of time," she snapped standing up and heading for the door. She didn't make it far before he sidled in front of her.

"Okay, I know how hard this is for you. I know that you shouldn't forgive me, or even waste your time listening to me, but please, just don't leave yet."

She didn't move, and he raised his eyebrows in a pleading sort of way.

She sighed loudly, and stomped back over to the bed, "Fine."

"I know you must hate me-"

"I don't hate you," she cut across him. He frowned.

"What?"

"I don't hate you," she said again, "I never hated you. Even though by rights I should."

"I just...I just want things to go back to the way they were," he said, "I want you to look at me like you did before."

"How can I do that, Cas? Do you want me to list the number of women you slept with? There was that blond bint in the diner, that waitress, the-"

"Alright, alright I understand," he cut across her furious tirade.

"No I don't think you do understand!" her voice was now close to shouting, and she stood up again, "I lost count of the number of times you came back at three in the morning, reeking of booze and some cheap tarts perfume. The number of times I cleaned up after you, the number of times I had to see with you those women all over you like a rash, laughing at me behind my back!"

He said nothing, just watched her with a miserable expression on his face.

"You know what hurt the most? It wasn't the cheating, of the alcohol or the drugs, it was the fact that you were drowning in misery and you wouldn't let me help you. I couldn't even get close; you pushed me away every time I tried."

"I didn't want to dump all my pain on you," he said in a quiet voice, "You had enough to deal with."

"Who did you always come to when you were hurting? I was always there Cas. Always."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she continued, "And then there was Meg. Of all the people in the world, you did you have to sleep with her? A demon? They're filth, Cas! And you chose her, over me. Over and over and over again!"

"I know," he stood up as well, a desperate look in his eyes, "I know I shouldn't have. But she was just...always there at the right times."

"And the rest of them clearly," she said bitterly, "I could never understand why did it. I mean, you might have been human then, but you were an angel once, and you thought demons were the lowest of the absolute low, and you still wanted her more than you wanted me."

"It wasn't like that-" he started, but again she cut across him.

"It wasn't like I stopped sleeping with you," she said, and the hurt in her voice was as sharp as knife, "It wasn't like I wouldn't have done anything to keep you with me."

She sank back onto the bed, put her head in her hands and burst into tears, tears that had been pent up inside for so long. She had sworn she would never cry in front of him again, or in front of anyone for a fact. Crying was a sign of weakness.

"Don't..." he said half-heartedly, "Don't cry."

She felt his arm around her shoulders, and she wanted to pull away, but instead she buried her head into his chest and sobbed so hard she felt like she was crying out bits of herself into the fabric of his shirt.

"I'll change, okay?" he said against her hair, "I can change. I'll look after you, I promise."

"You always said that," she said, her voice thick was tears, "But you never followed through."

"This time is different," he said, "I've spent long enough without you. I won't do it again."

He brushed away the tears from underneath her eyes, "Are you going to stay here tonight?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, "Nate will be wondering where I am..."

"I'm sure he won't mind for one night."

She looked towards the door, battling with her head, which told her clearly to leave, and her heart, which was screaming at her to stay. It would be nice to have someone else to comfort her, and it was only one night...

"Fine," she said, scrubbing a hand underneath her eyes to remove all traces of tears. She slumped back against the pillows, fully clothed. She was not intending to get close to doing _that _tonight. She watched as he pulled his shirt over his head, the lean muscles in his back tensing and relaxing.

"Is this a problem?" he said, gesturing at his shirtless chest, "I can put-"

"No it's okay," she said, struggling to control the shake in her voice.

He pulled her into the circle of his arms, and she kept waiting for it to feel awkward, but it felt as natural as it always had done. Even the anger had subsided to a dull, barely there burn in her veins. For the first time in a very long time, she fell into a completely dreamless, deep sleep.

* * *

It was six o'clock in the morning when Dean relieved Tank from his duty at the weapons shed. He had already been up since four o'clock in the morning, pacing around his cabin with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. His shift didn't start until half seven, but he didn't think there was much point staying in his cabin and staring and the four walls for hours on end.

The walkie talkie on the bench next to him gave a sudden blip and he heard Chuck's voice issuing from it.

"Dean? Dean? You on duty?"

He picked up the walkie talkie and flicked the button to open the channel, "Yeah?"

"I need you to come and look at some of this stock stuff. We're gonna need to run another raid soon or we're gonna run out of some pretty important things soon, including ammo to shoot the croats that keep throwing themselves against the camp defences."

Dean sighed heavily and massaged his forehead, "Fine. I'll be there."

He stood up and locked the shed, pulling the deadbolts across the door and attaching the ring of heavy keys to his belt. He set off walking through the deserted camp for the stock cabin. The deserted pathways and dark cabins always gave him the creeps at this time in the morning.

He stopped close to the canteen when he saw a flicker of movement at the edges of one of the cabins. He rolled his eyes and started to walk again when he realised it was Cas's cabin; he always had women coming and going at all times of the day and night. He only stopped again when he caught a proper look at who it really was.

What the hell was Miriana doing sneaking out of his cabin at this time? That was exactly what it looked like; the way she carefully placed her feet on the wooden steps so they wouldn't creak, and the furtive glances she kept shooting around. A second later he saw Cas appear at the door and follow her down the steps, wrapping his arms around her waist and planting the type of kiss on her that made Dean feel a little dirty watching it. He gave her another quick kiss before loping back up the steps, a goofy half grin on his face.

Dean felt a surge of anger so strong it made his chest burn. Cas thought he could just crawl back into Miriana's good books? She was too fragile and vulnerable at the moment to make any sensible decisions. He knew how well Cas could talk stuff up; he always used him to boost morale, when he wasn't off his face. He didn't deserve the time Miriana wasted on him. He played every woman around camp, but he wasn't going to let him play Miriana. Not again. He didn't deserve the time Miriana wasted on him.


	9. No Such Thing as Accidental Infidelity

_Hope you all enjoy this chapter :) A big thank you to everyone who left a review, hope you're still enjoying it. :) Lyrics belong to you me at six. _

_Was it something I said? Was something I did? That made you destroy all we built. _

_And it was something you said, something you did that made me think you were real,_

_Come back home now, Come back to sleep and we'll say,_

_Go back to someone else who, wants you more than me. _

Miriana slipped back inside her cabin as quietly as she could manage, avoiding the creaking floorboard near the door so she wouldn't wake Nate. She leaned against the door and took several deep breaths, biting her lip to hide the goofy smile that threatened to burst forwards, feeling like a teenager with her first crush. She felt warm and tingly all over, and when she ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, she tasted him, heady and sweet. She breathed in deeply, and inhaled the smell of him, clinging to her clothes. All of a sudden, virtually overnight, she had forgotten all of the things he'd done to hurt her, all of the awful things they had said to each other in the heat of anger. Love was swelling in her chest, crushing dissipating the anger.

She started when someone cleared their throat loudly. She opened her eyes to see Nate stood at the end of the sitting room, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dark.

"So," he said, with the air of a parent discovering their kid smuggling alcohol into their room, "Where have you been all night?"

She pushed away from the door and gave him her best withering glance as she passed, "Nowhere."

Nate sniffed the air as she passed, "Does this nowhere smell like men's aftershave, cos you sure do."

She rolled her eyes and tried to act nonchalant, "It's got nothing to do with you, Nate."

"It's him, isn't it?" he said in a disbelieving tone, "It's always him!"

"Who?" she asked as innocently as she could manage.

"Oh come on, Miriana, you know who," he snapped, "Cas."

"Maybe I was with him," she said coldly, "What does it have to do with you?"

"Not much really, it's your choice," he said, "But I'm not watching him hurt you again."

"He'll change this time," she said, trying to ignore how pathetic the hope in her own voice sounded.

Nate snorted loudly, "He always said that, and what always happened? He'd be back on the booze and pills, leaving you to clean up his mess for him."

"He seems...different," she said, still keeping that hopeful lilt in her voice, "More...stable."

Nate shook his head slowly back and forth, "How does he do it, huh? How does he get you to keep coming back, when you know and I know you were always too good for him."

"He's a good man," she snapped.

"Yeah, after a couple of drinks most men are," Nate said in a frustrated voice, "But the rest of the time most of us are just grumpy, sexist pigs."

Miriana rubbed his arm and gave him a little smile, "You're not a grumpy, sexist pig."

He batted her arm away, "Don't try and flatter me out of this conversation. And anyway, I wasn't talking about me."

She sighed heavily, "Look Nate, I know you don't like it, but he's different now. Honestly."

She walked into her room and began sorting through a pile of bed linen and sheets that Rhea had dropped off, Nate following her like a lanky, angry shadow.

"He has a bad reputation around here, Miriana," Nate continued, "Jake said he plays all the women here, gets up to all sorts of stuff with them. He's more of a bad boy than Dean by the sounds of it."

Miriana laughed, "Cas? He's about as bad boy as a care bear."

Nate huffed, "Well he slept with those women while he was still with you. Why should he be any different now?"

"Just because," Miriana said, continuing to fold the sheets methodically.

Nate caught her hands with one of his own and lifted her chin with his other. His wide dark eyes were filled with concern, and she instantly felt guilty for her flippant behaviour.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he said softly, "You've hurt enough."

He gently pushed her hands away and started to fold the sheets for her, "I'll do this. You go and get some breakfast."

"But I'm not-" she began to protest, but Nate held up his hands to stop her.

"Don't tell me you're not hungry," he grumbled, "For god's sake Miriana eat something. You look like a frigging rake. And I don't dig skinny chicks."

It soon became apparent that Nate was not the only one who was not happy about her sudden reconciliation with Cas. From the stormy expression on Dean's face as he strode over to her in the canteen, he wasn't exactly thrilled either.

"So, I saw you sneaking out of Cas's cabin this morning," he growled in her ear as she rifled through the cereal boxes, looking for something she wanted.

"How do you know about that," she hissed, "Are you stalking me or something?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he snapped, "What do you think you're playing at."

"Excuse me?"

"With Cas," he clarified, "It's a bad idea; I can tell you that now."

She turned to face him and folded her arms, "It's none of your business."

"So, you just conveniently forgot all the shit he put you through," Dean said in sceptical tone, "All the stuff you said the other night about wanting him to suffer. That just slipped your mind, did it?"

"It's none of your business," she repeated.

Dean shook his head in disbelief, "What is it with him? He used to be the most socially retarded person I knew, but women just throw themselves at him. You hated him, but five minutes with him alone and you're on your back in his bed again!"

She flushed a furious shade of red, "I was not on my back! I don't spread my legs that easily Dean. I'm not like your women."

"Whatever," he said, waving his hand, "You just can't get back together with him Miriana, you just can't. He'll break your heart again."

"So you say, but I don't see you giving any proof," she snapped.

Dean gave a heavy sigh and paused for a second, as if gathering his words, "He holds orgies, you know. He's slept with a good fifty percent of the women here."

Miriana burst out laughing so loud that several people at a nearby table looked over with confused looks, "Please Dean, I know I can be a bit stupid, but I'm not thick. Orgies? Am I seriously supposed to believe that?"

"Yes," Dean said, clearly irritated, "Ask anyone, they'll tell you. He has a bad reputation around here."

She rolled her eyes, "If you want to put me off him, you might want to think of something a little more realistic."

She turned on her heel and left the room without eating once again, feeling very flushed and irritated for reasons she couldn't explain.

Over the next few days, Miriana only saw Cas for very brief moments. Dean kept dragging him out on raids and finding him jobs to do, and Miriana had the sneaking suspicion that both Dean and Nate were conspiring to keep the two of them as busy as possible, and therefore keeping them away from each other. Anytime she so much as glanced at him, dean would somehow appear and bark an order at him, at which he would just roll his eyes and salute Dean as he went off to do whatever it was he wanted. Dean seemed incredibly irritated by this behaviour.

Late one afternoon, in one such rare moment alone, Miriana decided to broach the subject of his supposedly bad reputation. The warm amber sunlight was filtering through the windows in Cas's cabin, heating the low bed on which they lay.

"Can I ask you something?" Miriana said, breaking the sleepy silence.

"Of course," he said drowsily.

She lifted her head from his chest and propped herself up on her elbows, "Dean's been saying some stuff."

His face, which had been peaceful a few seconds ago, darkened instantly, "What sort of stuff?"

She looked down and fiddled with the silver rings on her fingers, "About your reputation."

"What about it?"

"He's saying that you've slept with nearly all the women in this camp," she said quietly, "That you play them all off each other."

He slid a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to his, "I've done some shit in the past. But I'm changing now, okay?"

She bit her bottom lip, "Really?"

He traced a finger along her cheek, "You're not sure."

"Well, you still have the same old problems you had before," she said, glancing at the bedside cabinet, on which lay several empty bottles of painkillers and a half empty whisky bottle, "Why should this be any different?"

He sighed heavily, "Because you're here. I can change if you're here."

Her heart gave a weak little flip in her chest, as it always did when he got all romantic, "Oh."

He gave her a deep, long kiss, "Can we move on now?"

"Mmm-hmm," she mumbled.

He leaned in to kiss her again, sliding his hands to the button of her shirt, effectively ending that conversation.

A few nights later, Miriana's night of quiet reading was disturbed by a knock at her door. She opened it to find Dean, looking as surly as ever.

She shut her book and dropped on the small table beside the door, "What?"

"I need your help with some supplies," he said.

She glanced at the clock, which read nine thirty, "Now? I'm tired."

"Look, you're the one who's always asking if you can help, "Dean grumbled, "Well now you can."

She sighed heavily and stepped out onto the porch, locking the door behind her and sliding the key into her pocket. Dean set off walking without waiting for her, and she rolled her eyes and set off at a slight jog to catch up to him.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Why do I get the feeling you're up to something?"

He gave her a dark look, "I'm not up to anything."

"Okay."

They continued to walk in silence; they passed no one else on the way. Miriana still didn't quite know the layout of the camp properly yet, but she was pretty sure they weren't heading towards the supplies shed.

All of a sudden, Dean grabbed hold of the top of her arm in a vice like grip and began steering her towards a small collection of cabins, yanking her along with his long legged stride.

"What the hell are you doing?" she shrieked, "Get the hell off me!"

"I have to show you this, Miriana," he said in calm tone, "You'll thank me."

She managed to wriggle herself free and she stopped in the middle of the path, her chest heaving up and down, "What the hell is this about?"

Before she could dodge away, he grabbed her arm again and started dragging her along again. She soon realised where they were headed when she saw the familiar cabin ahead.

"Oh for God's sake Dean, what are you trying to prove?"

"You'll see," he said matter of factly.

He tugged her up the steps and banged his fist on the door once, so hard Miriana thought the wood might splinter. There was a strong smell of incense wafting from inside.

Cas opened the door, shirtless, and Miriana noticed there was a slightly glazed look to his eyes, like he'd been smoking something, which he most likely had.

"What?" he answered shortly, his hazy eyes focused on Dean.

"Just wondering if you could explain to her," Dean shoved Miriana in the small of her back so she staggered forwards through the door, "What the hell you're doing."

It took Miriana a few seconds to fully understand what she was seeing. There were several women, none of them wearing much more than underwear. She saw Natalie, the blond haired girl from the canteen, holding what looked like a spliff. She wore a mocking look on her face, like she really enjoyed the look of pure horror on Miriana's. Close to her was the petite brown haired girl that had smiled at Miriana a few days before; she had an almost apologetic look on her face. She seemed to be the only one; the rest of them seemed to find it quite amusing.

She felt Cas's hand on her shoulder, "Look I can explain..."

"Oh you can, can you?" Dean snapped, "Go ahead then, I'd love to hear this."

She took a few deep, steadying breaths, "I am _so _stupid."

"Miriana..."

She slapped his hand away and swept out of the room, ignoring the few cruel laughs that followed her. She only managed to reach the bottom of the steps before he caught up to her, hastily shrugging a shirt on.

"Miriana please, please," he grabbed her arm, his eyes wide and beseeching, "Please just listen-"

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. He let go instantly.

"I can explain, Miriana," he said, as she turned to leave again, "If you'll just listen-"

She whirled around and punched him right in the jaw, hard enough that he swore loudly and colourfully through a mouthful of blood. Several lights had flicked on in the cabins surrounding them, curious people drawn outside by the sound of the fight. Rhea was stood a few feet away, a look of shock on her face. Chuck was paused in the act of carrying a huge pile of boxes; he was completely transfixed by the fight, and didn't even notice when half the contents spilled across the gravel.

"You're a fucking bastard," she hissed, "I can't believe I was thick enough to believe you. You can't even go three days without getting your end away with some tart."

He spat a little more blood on the path, "If we could talk about this-"

"Talk about it!" she screeched, and several people started, "You're sorely mistaken if you think I will ever talk to you again. You're a just a lying bastard; everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit!"

"These sessions are just...something I have to do. To cope."

She stood there in disbelief for a few seconds, so incensed she couldn't move. It seemed half the camp had appeared to watch their fight; from the corner of her eye she saw Tank and several of the tough looking men she had seen with Dean standing in a loose knot, several of them seeming to quite enjoy all the shouting. Angela was comforting the petite brown haired girl from the cabin, whose eyes seemed very red, peeking over the blanket she was wrapped in. Dean was leaning against the porch, arms crossed, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Cope?" she said in a dangerously low voice that was somehow worse than the shouting, "To help you cope?"

"Yes."

"How do you think I cope Cas? So you lost your powers and daddy left you, well boo-hoo. Most of us lowly humans deal with far worse shit than that and don't off the rails. Don't you remember Dean lost his mother, his father and his brother? That Rhea watched Frankie get torn apart by croats?" she saw Rhea blanch at the memory, "Did you happen to forget that I watched Cristian die, killed my aunt because she got sick and tried to batter my skull in? Or that we are all facing the end of the world and all we've ever known?"

"I know," he said wearily, "I know, but Miriana..."

He reached out to touch her shoulder but she slapped it away, "Am I not good enough for you? Miriana's too much of screw up so I'll shag every other woman instead? I bet you were thrilled when I was gone; I bet it really gave you free reign."

"You left, Miriana," he said, pointing an accusatory finger, "You turned your back. No one forced you to walk away."

She launched at him, managing to kick him squarely in the stomach so he doubled over, wheezing, "How dare you blame this on me? Don't you dare justify all you've done!"

She punched him again, her fist colliding with a satisfying crunch and splitting his eyebrow open, so a thick rivulet of blood trickled down his face and onto his shirt. Several of the women from the cabin were watching, their smiles replaced with looks of horror, their hands over their mouths, although the blonde haired woman Natalie, who hadn't thrown a shirt over her bra, seemed to be wearing a small smirk.

She went to kick him again, but she felt a huge pair of muscled arms fold across her chest and yank her backwards, pinning her arms to her sides.

"Let me go Tank!" she shrieked, thrashing to get loose. Tank's arms only tightened further.

"Oi Dean!" he yelled, almost defeaning her, "Aren't you gonna give me a hand?"

Dean shrugged, "Nope."

"Come on then Miriana," Cas said, spreading his arms wide as if in defeat, "Beat the shit out of me if it'll make you feel better."

She stopped struggling against Tank, and he cautiously loosened his arms, allowing her to step free.

"You know what? You're not worth it."

She calmly walked away, the crowd of people gathered parting silently as she passed, Chuck looking slightly awestruck, his mouth hanging open. She noticed that several of Dean's tough guy friends gave her an appreciative, manly sort of nod as she swept past.

She managed to reach her cabin, then slammed the door and slid to the floor, her head in her hands. She heard Nate's footsteps and felt him sit on the floor next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything for a very long time, just kept stroking her hair.

After what seemed like hours, he broke the silence, "I'm not gonna say I told you so."

* * *

He had completely forgotten how powerful Miriana's right hook could be, and how hard she kicked. The last time she had punched him after a furious fight over some distant argument she had almost dislocated his jaw, and left him with a headache that refused to leave for days. It had taken Dean several hours to calm her down enough to let her back in the same room as him.

Naomi dabbed at his split eyebrow, wincing when he pulled away from the stinging antiseptic lotion.  
"Sorry!" she said in a shaky voice, dropping the rag to the floor.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, "It's alright."

"I wouldn't like to get in a fight with her," she said, retrieving the rag and continuing to tentatively wipe the blood away from his forehead and mouth.

"Trust me, you don't," he said, wincing when he stretched and felt new bruises blossoming across his stomach, "She punches like a wrestler."

"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.

"Of course."

"Were you really going to change?" she asked, "You know, ditch all of us and go for the one woman lifestyle?"

He sighed heavily, "I wanted to, I really did, but...I guess I have problems."

"She looked very upset," Naomi stated unhelpfully.

"She is," he said, "I have really screwed up."

She sat back, folding the bloody rag carefully, "What happened between the two of you?"

"It's a long story," he said, "And it's mostly my fault."

"You said that before, but you won't explain," she said exasperatedly, "I just want to help."

He leaned forwards and took her hands in his own carefully, "I'll tell you one day. Just...not now."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but she was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. They turned to find Dean stood in the doorway, eyeing Naomi suspiciously.

"I wanna to talk to Cas. Alone," Dean said pointedly.

Naomi bowed her head and scurried past Dean. She was one of the many people in camp who was terrified of Dean, and one of the only women he didn't flirt with.

"I bet you think you're really smart, don't you Dean?" Cas snapped, getting painfully to his feet, "I'm sure you really enjoyed that."

"Actually I did," Dean said in an infuriatingly cheerful tone, "I'm sorry Cas, you got what you deserved. Miriana's right hook."

"Why are you taking the moral high ground? You're not much better than me."

"No you're right," Dean said, shrugging, "But at least I don't lie to the women I see. They know I'm likely to cheat. Everyone at this camp knows what you're like with all your bigamous relationships. But you didn't tell Miriana. I mean, did you really think she wouldn't find out?"

"If you hadn't come barging in with her she might not have done," he muttered darkly.

Dean snorted, "Dude, I just saved you some serious trouble. That woman is like a bloodhound when it comes to betrayal; she would have figured it out eventually."

Cas sighed and slumped back down into his seat, grabbing a bottle of whisky and knocking back a long draught.

"You know what I don't get?" Dean said, and Cas rolled his eyes; he had hoped this conversation was over, "You get a woman like Miriana, and you push her away?"

He slammed the whisky bottle back down, "Do you want to add her to your long list of conquests, or something? Because you seem intent on sabotaging her relationships, you're showing signs of serious obsession and your protectiveness is unhealthy, if you don't mind me saying."

Dean folded his arms, "No I do not want to sleep with her. I'm just fed up of seeing her get hurt."

He thumped his shoulder, "Look man, I'm down with the whole banging chicks and living it up, I get it okay? I really do. You've taken a leaf out of my book and stopped being such an uptight dick."

"Do you have a point?"

"I'm just sayin', you should remember what I said when you first got into this whole lifestyle. Hell hath no fury like Miriana scorned."


	10. Down with the sickness

_Another long overdue update. If you're still with me, you deserve a medal and a massive hug from me __ Life just gets in the way a bit sometimes I guess. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and to all the people still reading and reviewing, you're all awesome. A bit of language in this chapter, just FYI. _

November 27th, 2012

It took a good number of weeks before the camp stopped gossiping about Miriana. Most people learnt not to say anything within her earshot, unless they wanted a black eye. She soon gained a formidable reputation throughout the camp; most people were slightly afraid of her, everyone grudgingly respected her, especially after she single handedly put down a tenacious group of Croats that had tried to attack the fences with nothing more than a machete and will power. Dean put her on watch duty several times a week, and soon many of the scouts and scavenging parties asked for her to join them on their trips outside into the dead zone. It was a momentous occasion when Dean handed her a set of keys that opened the doors of the storeroom, armoury and the passcode to the camp gates.

"Welcome to the fold," Tank said, slapping her so hard on the shoulder she nearly buckled.

"Thanks," she said, "I'm sure I'm not going to regret this when a Croat comes along and bites me in the arse."

Tank hoisted his ever preset rifle a little higher up his shoulder, "Ah, the danger's all part of the fun."

She'd fallen into what she considered a very healthy routine. She was up most mornings at six thirty to run the perimeter of the camp; breakfast, then an hour of weight training and an hour teaching weapons training. She was actually eating properly too, for the first time in a good number of years; ironic really. No-one she knew ever got healthier during an apocalypse. When she first came to the camp she had been starved and unhealthy, but she was soon packed with muscle; she could run faster, fight harder and react quicker than she had ever been able to before. She wasn't entirely sure she was happy, but she never expected too much from life. She had learned better than to expect happiness like it was something she deserved. But she could deal with the life she had, and if she was honest, it was a damn sight better than what most people had in a world gone to hell.

Nate was better than he had been in a long time too. He had found a girl, Sally, with big sky blue eyes and long wavy gold hair who laughed at all his lame jokes and always saved him a spot next to her on the training field. She spent so much time with Nate that Miriana moved out of the cabin they shared to give him more privacy and into her own, a few doors down from Dean's. Nate had acted like he was bothered by the move, but she knew he was really grateful. He wanted his independence, and she strongly suspected Sally was a little afraid of her. A lot of people were now. It didn't really bother her. She was not a mild mannered person, and she sure as hell wasn't going to change that.

She rarely saw Cas, and when she did, she ignored him as completely as if he wasn't there. As they were both part of Dean's 'dream team', as the rest of the camp dubbed his closest people, they had no choice but to spend a certain degree of time in each others company, but Dean made a conscious effort to keep them separated as much as possible. They faced enough threats from Croats and demons, he didn't need two of his best people to kill each other.

She was managing to keep her distance from Cas, but his group of women were an entirely different matter. None of them were brave enough to say anything to her face, but she watched her back around them, especially Natalie. She suspected Cas hadn't told them the full story of all that had happened between the two of them, but they were perceptive enough to realise she was something to him. It had surprised her at first, that they were so possessive, considering the fact that twelve women shared him on a regular basis.

"It's because you're special," Rhea explained as they unloaded supplies from the truck one drizzly morning, "In twenty years time he probably won't remember any of their names, but he'll remember you until he dies. You're the one that got away, that one woman he'll always be hung up on."

"I didn't get away," Miriana grumbled, "I'm here aren't I? And besides, it's not like he's built a shrine to me and cries over my photographs or anything like that. We don't even speak."

Rhea shook her head with a smile, "That doesn't matter. Jealousy is a powerful thing. Cas has never seemed to give two shits about anything, then suddenly you come along and his whole perspective changes. And they don't like it. Especially Natalie, that bitch has got one hell of a superiority complex."

"Yeah, well I'm keeping my eye on her," Miriana muttered, following Rhea into the storehouse, "And what do you mean his perspective changed? He still seems like the same douche bag to me."

Rhea laughed, "You really don't see it, do you? He watches you like a hawk whenever you're out on supply runs together. Ain't no Croats or demons getting to you while he's around. Trust me, hon, he's still in love with you, and they hate it."

Miriana said nothing, just stacked cans on the shelves with a little more force than absolutely necessary.

The morning had only just dawned when Naomi woke up to the sound of screaming.

She sat bolt upright, shrugging Cas's arms from around her waist. At the end of the bed, Natalie and Leanne stirred, grumbling.

"What the hell is going on?"

"What's that noise?"

A second later, a siren began to wail.

"Oh shit," Naomi said, "Croats."

She shook Cas roughly, "Cas, Cas! The sirens going off, there's Croats in the camp."

He was up instantly, pulling a pistol from underneath the pillow. She had never even known he had kept one there. Natalie and Leanne were hurriedly pulling on their clothes. Naomi glanced out the window and could see dark shapes rushing back and forth. There was the sound of a shotgun going off, and everyone jumped.

Naomi pulled her shirt and jeans back on with trembling hands, "What do we do?"

He pushed a handful of bullets into his gun and flicked the safety off, "Wait here. Don't move til I come back."

He dashed out of the door and out in the half darkness. Natalie flew to the door and slammed it shut, throwing the lock across.

"That won't keep them out," Leanne whispered. She was curled up in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest, eyes wide.

Natalie leaned against the door, breathing heavily. All of her normal bravado and arrogance was gone. She looked terrified. Croats were something that stayed outside the walls, something for the scouts and the soldiers to deal with. They scared the shit out of Naomi. When the outbreak had first hit in her hometown in Minnesota, she had stayed trapped in her house for days, watching people tear other people apart in the streets, too frightened to even go downstairs. Her boyfriend has turned up at her house, but he wasn't right. He had howled and hammered on the door until she had been sure it would splinter. After a night of this, a military unit had arrived to evacuate any uninfected people still left alive, and they had put him down. She still remembered the spray of blood against the white door that she had spent so long painting that summer. The blood soaked soldier had practically had to carry her to the armoured car; she was almost catatonic with fear. She was the only evacuee in a ten street radius. Out of her whole town they only picked up another four people, an old woman and her cat, two teenage girls only a little younger than Naomi and a boy barely older than ten, still in his pyjamas, clutching his transformers toy to his chest.

A few more gunshots went off, and a woman screamed, startlingly close to the cabin. Naomi cast her eyes around for a weapon. They only thing she could see of any use was a bronze statuette of some old deity on the nightstand. She lifted it with some difficulty.

"What are you gonna do with that?" Naomi sneered, "pray to it?"

At that moment a great force slammed into the door so hard chunks of wood splintered free. The door knob rattled wildly. Leanne screamed, and the sound seemed to spur the thing outside on. The door smashed inwards, knocking Natalie to the floor, and the Croat burst inside, panting like a wounded animal. Leanne panicked and ran for the door, trying to manoeuvre past it, but it caught her and dragged her to the ground, sinking its teeth into her neck. She tried to scream, but it came out as nothing but a gargle, choking on her own blood as it gushed over her lips and stained the floor scarlet. Natalie was screaming, and Naomi was transfixed, gripping the statuette so tight her knuckles ached. She just watched as the Croat, once a well built man in his early twenties, savaged Leanne like a dog would chew a toy. With a final choke, Leanne went limp, grey eyes wide and staring, white face splattered with blood, white nubs of her spine visible through the gore that was once her throat. The Croat staggered to its feet unsteadily, then lunged at Natalie, jaws snapping. Naomi could see chunks of Leanne's flesh hanging from its teeth. Its eyes were bloodshot, more red than white. With a sudden bravery she was not aware she possessed, Naomi lifted the statuette and brought it down hard on the Croats back, but the blow did nothing but draw its attention to her. It whirled to face her, stinking of blood, and threw itself on her, bringing them both crashing to the floor. She braced an arm across its chest to keep its teeth away from her throat, but she could feel its hands closing around her neck, crushing her windpipe.

"Help me!" she choked out, but Natalie did nothing but sit there, unmoving. Her vision was flashing red and black and everything seemed muted behind the roaring in her ears. A drop of blood fell from its mouth and spattered on her cheek. The weight of it on her chest was crushing her.

Suddenly, the Croat was hauled off her by a pair of hands. She caught a flash of dark hair and a hissed curse; the Croat turned on this new distraction and clawed at it like a rabid dog. There was a brief scuffle and the Croat fell to the floor, a slender knife buried in its skull.

Natalie looked up to her saviour and saw Miriana, a bruise blossoming across her cheek, spattered in blood. She was holding her arm out in front of her, a horrified look on her face.

"Oh shit. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

Natalie followed Miriana's gaze and felt her stomach drop. On Miriana's forearm, vivid against her skin, there was a perfectly oval wound in the shape of human teeth.

"Just fucking kill me already," Miriana muttered. She was pale and sweating, her hair plastered against her neck.

She was handcuffed to a chair in Dean's cabin. Dean, Tank, Rhea and Cas were all crammed into the small room, watching her apprehensively. Cas couldn't take his eyes off the bite wound on her forearm. It was a death sentence, scrawled across her skin. Bites infected just as surely as blood transmission, and everyone turned within a few hours. She didn't have long left.

"I can't do that," Dean ground out. He looked haggard, the worst Cas had seen him for a good while.

Outside, the bodies of the Croats and the three people they had killed were burning on a pyre, including Leanne. Her body had been a mess, throat torn clean out. He knew he should feel worse about it, but he couldn't stop thinking about that bite on Miriana's arm, and the poison it was pumping through her bloodstream. Natalie and Naomi were sat on the steps to Dean's cabin, wrapped in a blanket, tears streaking their faces. He didn't have it in him to comfort them right now.

"Why not!" Miriana shouted, "You've never hesitated to put a monster down before."

"You're not a monster," Dean said.

"I will be. In a few hours."

No one said anything. Dean slumped into the chair opposite her and put his head in his hands.

"She's right Dean," said Rhea in a small voice, "She's going to turn."

"I won't be one of those things," Miriana said defiantly, raising her chin, "I won't."

She turned to Cas, meeting his eyes for the first time in weeks, "You'll do it. I know you will."

"I won't," he rasped, "I can't."

She shook her head, disgusted, "You're pathetic. You all are. You know what, give me the fucking gun and I'll do it myself."

At that moment, Nate burst into the cabin, pushing past the ring of people around Miriana, breathing hard like he had been running.

"It's not true...is it?"

He caught sight of the bite mark on her arm, and burst into tears. He threw his arms around her, awkwardly. Miriana's face was white over Nate's shoulder. She tried to hug him back, but with her arms handcuffed the best she could do was pat his side. His shoulders were shaking, his sobs muffled by her shoulder.

He turned to Dean, "You can do something right? Give her antibiotics or something, she can fight it off."

"It doesn't work like that, sweetheart," Miriana said, voice suddenly soft, "There's no cure."

"Sam was immune," Dean said suddenly, "Remember me telling you, years ago, that little town where all the townspeople went homicidal. They infected Sam, but he was fine. Noting happened to him."

Miriana snorted, "And you think I'm immune?"

"You might be," Rhea piped up suddenly, "I met this woman, right when the outbreak hit, who swore she had been infected four days ago, and she was fine. They were rumours all round the refugee camps about people who couldn't get sick from the Croatoan virus."

"Did she ever show you proof?" Miriana asked.

"Well...no."

"It's bullshit!" she snapped, "Dean, Sam was immune because of all the crazy demon shit he had pumping through his veins. I've never heard of immunity. It doesn't exist. I'm going to get sicker, then I'm going to turn and flip my shit, and that is not happening. I die on my terms, no one else's."

Nate sat down heavily in the corner, his head in his arms. Dean stumped over to the chest of drawers and pulled free a bottle of whisky, taking a long swig.

"Just kill me, please," she said wearily, "Make it easier on all of us."

"Easier!" Dean thundered suddenly, making them all jump, "You think it will be easy for me to put a bullet through your skull? To look you in the eyes and kill you, stone dead? I love you, Miriana, you're the closest thing I have to a friend in this piece of shit world, and I'm not killing you. I'm just not. Enough people have died!"

There was silence in the room. Miriana was looking at Dean with a very odd expression on her face, like she was seeing him for the first time. Cas had never heard Dean be so open about anything. His hands were visibly shaking, so much so the whisky kept sloshing around against the glass bottle. Cas had the sudden insane urge to start praying, but stopped himself before he could think the words. That would get him nowhere. If she was going to turn, she would turn, and no one up there cared about his pleas anymore. They wouldn't help her.

"Here's the deal," Dean said shakily, "I keep you in here, handcuffed. All night. I'll watch you until morning. If you're still alright then and you haven't turned, we know we're in the clear. Virus takes no more than twelve hours to get a hold."

"And if I turn?" she demanded.

Dean turned to look at her, eyes dark. His resolve seemed to have hardened.

"Then I'll kill you."

Everyone in the room seemed to let out a breath they had been holding. Miriana looked relieved. Nae began to cry again.

"Shake on it," Miriana said firmly.

He hesitated for a moment, but the look on her face told him not to argue. He reached out and took her cool hand in his. She gave him a tight smile in response.

"Out!" Dean ordered suddenly, "Everyone out!"

No one moved. Dean rounded on them all.

"Am I not speaking English or something? Get out!"

Cas knew better than to piss Dean off in his current mood. He tried to pull Nate to his feet, but he shrugged him off furiously and stormed from the room. Rhea and Tank filed out behind him, looking exhausted. The smell of burning bodies was thick in the air, catching in the back of Cas's throat. He hesitated by the door, meeting Miriana's eyes again. The look in her eyes was clear.

_Don't you dare worry,_ they said, _you haven't earned the right to care about me. _

He stumped down the steps heavily. Naomi and Natalie were still sat on the steps, looking pale and drawn. Natalie remained sitting, but Naomi jumped to her feet when she saw him, shedding the blanket.

"What's going to happen to her?" she asked. There was a streak of blood on her left cheek. He reached out to gently wipe it away, feeling suddenly, unexplainably heavy, like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders.

"Dean wants to wait until the twelve hours is up. If she doesn't turn by morning, she's released."

Naomi swallowed hard, "And if she does? Turn, I mean?"

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face, "Then Dean puts a bullet through her skull."

His voice cracked on the last word, despite his best attempt to stop it. Naomi lifted a warm hand to his cheek, her eyes full of compassion.

"Oh Cas," she said softly, pulling him into a hug.

He turned his face into her shoulder and wept. Her hands moved to his back and stroked it gently. In all of his long life, no one apart from Miriana had ever seemed to understand what pain he felt, but it seemed in that brief moment that Naomi understood it perfectly well. The pyre of burning bodies continued to crackle almost merrily, filling the air with the cloying stench of death.


End file.
